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FOLLY AND FRESH AIR 


BY 

EDEN PHILLPOTTS 


“ Where is the life that late I led? . . . . 

Why, here it is; welcome these pleasant days!" 

Shakespeare 



NEW YORK 

HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE 

1892 

mi 2 



Source unkaowm 
£££ 7 1S2Q 



EXCELLENT 


“ MAC” 

{The Doctor of this Narrative ) 

TIIESE PAGES ARE 

2>eDicateD 

AS A SMALL MONUMENT 
OF GREAT FRATERNAL REGARD 



















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I. 

The Scheme Proposed — Universal Opposition Thereto — Objectors 
Severally Crushed — Scheme found Throwing out Branches 
and Growing in Beauty — The Doctor — His Greatness — Medi- 
cal Bills — Advice — Egotism of Official Colleagues — Theory of 
Transmigration of Souls Applied to Mine — Painful Scene with 
a Fishing-rod — The Dress Rehearsal .... Pages 1-16 

CHAPTER II. 

The Start — Loss of Nerve at Paddington — An Outrage — The Doc- 
tor Appears — Fellow - travellers — “ Shockers ” — Champagne 
— Smiling Devon — Night on the Moor — "VVe Arrive — A Pre- 
liminary Hill — Trying Reminiscence of the Doctor as a 
Sleeper 17-36 

CHAPTER III. 

The Village of Tavybridge — A Procession — Licenses for Catching 
of Salmon — We Make a Start — The First Trout — Astounding 
Adventure with Angels — The Second Trout — The Doctor’s 
Lack of Veracity — Satire — Local Critics 37-53 

CHAPTER IV. 

Sleep — Cock -crowing — Unpleasant Incident with a Looking- 
glass — Superstition — The Doctor has a Trance — A Golden 
Morning — “Man -traps Set Here” — Sport — The Landlady’s 


vi 


CONTENTS. 


Cat — Dartmoor— A Keeper of Many Words — Concerning Miss 
Lucy Lynn Pages 54-70 


CHAPTER V. 

Bells — The Rival Honey Growers — A Remarkable Barber — Mar- 
tyrs — The Landlady’s Hobby — Ignorance of the Local Medical 
Man — It is Shared by Me — A Sleepy Symposium — Photog- 
raphy — Contemplated Book for Young Anglers — Peculiar In- 
telligence of Cattle — A Misunderstanding Between the Doctor 
and the Sun 71-88 


CHAPTER YI. 

The Cat Entertains — Analysis of Feline Character — A Sea-sliell — 
In Cloudland — Brown and Gray Harmonies — The Expert — 
My Abasement — Unparalleled Adventure Involving Ham Sand- 
wiches — Highwaymen, Human and Otherwise — Nature’s Trials 
— My Real Work in Life Frustrated 89-107 

CHAPTER VII. 

A Scientific Investigation — The Violent Fisher — My Spider — On 
Early Rising — Reckless Assertions from the Doctor — The 
Sheep, the Dog, and the Hind — A Short Cut — The Doctor’s 
Pool — Its Peculiar Tenants 108-125 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Tribulations — A Pleasant Luncheon — Advice — I Insult the Doctor 
— Heavy-handed Punishment — “One Woe doth Tread upon 
Another’s Heel ” — Deserted — Horrid Determination on my Part 
to Die — Surgical Aid — A Sophism — Evening Light — Harmony 
in Ebony and Silver — The Return of Peace . . . 126-137 

CHAPTER IX. 

Sunday — John Bunyan — Lamentable Experience in a Place of 
Worship — Suggested Congregational Etiquette Book — A 
Moor Church — Crimson and Gold — The Butterflies’ Haunt 
— Among Many Graves — A Scar on the Hill-side — Idle Reflec- 
tions 138-154 


CONTENTS. 


vii 


CHAPTER X. 

William — 'His Ambitions — His Enthusiasm — His Thirst for Bo- 
tanical Knowledge — His Abnormal Appetite for the Black- 
berry — Sleep and Sunshine — Rustics — The Hanger of Prac- 
tical Joking — Instances Thereof — Photography — A Plea for 
Tolerance Pages 155— 167 

CHAPTER XI. 

Two Epistles — A Thunder-bolt — Arguments For and Against Gen- 
eral Lynn’s Invitation — Unique Adventure with a Lunatic — 
Moments of Universal Madness — The Local Fisher — I Make a 
Trout -fly — It Deceives the Doctor — And Causes a Fish to 
Faint — Truth Still the Guiding Star — Childhood’s Unhappy 
Memories — Bats 168-186 


CHAPTER XII. 

Off to Bracken Tor — Lawn - tennis Players — The General Bears no 
Malice — Lucy Lynn — Self-conscious People — The Exponent — 
A Match — “ Mixed Doubles ” — The General in a “ Four ” — 
Future Plans — Criticism — The Doctor Meditates a Poem, and 
Grows Morose — Aunt Sophia 187-203 

CHAPTER XIII. 

A Day with Aunt Sophia — The Woman and the Bundle — Azure 
and Gold — Things Hard to Tell of — The House - fly — A Meet- 
ing of Waters — The Beauty of Silence — Fishing — A New 
Keeper — Lost on Dartmoor — The Casting Away of Aunt So- 
phia — “Alarums and Excursions” — To the Rescue — Saved — 
Jack-a-Lantern . . . 204-224 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Farewell to Aunt Sophia — Traits of Rustic Character — The Court- 
ly General — Old Indians — Caviare — A Storm Brewing — Pis- 
catorial Nature — How to Shoot Plover — The Doctor’s Ar- 
rangements — Love and. Thunder — Ajax Photographs the 
Lightning 225-239 


CONTENTS. 


viii 


CHAPTER XV. 

The Last Fishing Excursion — Local Geography — Cliffs Above 
a Green Sea — The Doctor’s Great Silence — Castles in the 
Air — Another Dog — Similes and Metaphors — Narcissus 
— The Man with a Gun — Dog or Fiend? — The Lonely 
Inn — Art — A Mystery — Heart-rending Complication with 
Local Coffee Pages 240-257 


CHAPTER XVI. 

The Last of Narcissus — By a Wood -fire — Treating of the Doctor’s 
Literary Effort in Five Pipes of Tobacco — Criticism and Weird 
Scene of Nocturnal Collaboration — The Dream and the Picture 
— More Criticism — My Youthful Love 258-273 

CHAPTER XVII. 

Various Preliminaries to a Notable Evening — The Equilibrist — A 
Last Trout — Mrs. Vallack Organizes a Banquet — Programmes 
— Eggs and Bottles — The Doors are Opened — Greenroom 
Mysteries — A Full and Particular Account of the Celebrated 
Tavybridge Penny Reading, Embracing the Performers, the 
Audience, and the Ultimate Artistic and Pecuniary Triumph 
Thereof 274-292 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

The Mind of Man — The Doctor’s Telescopic Mental Apparatus — 
The Last of the Home Stream — A Company for the Extraction 
of Silver Linings from Clouds — Good-bye to Tavybridge — The 
Doctor’s Misery and Despair — Vale ! — A Vision of Winter and 
a Thought of Spring — Conclusion 293-307 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE SCIIEME PROPOSED — UNIVERSAL OPPOSITION THERETO 

OBJECTORS SEVERALLY CRUSHED — SCHEME FOUND 

THROWING OUT BRANCHES AND GROWING IN BEAUTY — 
THE DOCTOR — HIS GREATNESS— MEDICAL BILLS— ADVICE 
— EGOTISM OF OFFICIAL COLLEAGUES — THEORY OF TRANS- 
MIGRATION OF SOULS APPLIED TO MINE — PAINFUL SCENE 
WITH A FISHING-ROD — THE DRESS REHEARSAL. 

When I publicly announced that it was my in- 
tention to go fly-fishing in the noble heart of 
Devon, every soul who had any excuse for interest 
in me argued against the project. Many others 
also, who were not invited to give an expression to 
their opinions, took it upon themselves to say that 
I was mistaken. 

But the world is full of dissuaders. They loom up 
in the fore-front of every great scheme or notable 
undertaking you set yourself. They know your 
powers in every direction far better than you do ; 
they fear you are courting failure ; they use all the 
disheartening arguments their ingenuity can sug- 
l 


2 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


gest; and, finally, when they have diverted your 
intentions, they shake their heads, and tell mutual 
friends that never did they chance upon a being so 
infirm of purpose as yourself. 

AVe were dining when I burst out with my re- 
solve. Our circle was enjoying itself without a 
thought of any observation worth listening to from 
me. After this meal is over I am generally com- 
municative, dinner being my last piece of work for 
the day. That ended, I smoke a pipe, and my 
family clusters round, and I tell them a thousand 
things of interest concerning art and ethics and 
science and politics — things they have never heard 
before, and that probably I have never heard be- 
fore, or anybody. I like to interest people. It is 
a greater crime in society to be dull than to be un- 
truthful. Not, of course, that I am untruthful, far 
from it ; but there is an element of pleasure in telling 
folks things they have never heard until they met 
you. They may exclaim, they may even suspect — 
that matters not ; your remarks give them material 
for novel thought ; and they like you or anybody 
who will do this. For the same reason I read daily 
journals generally held to be lax in their struggle 
after absolute truth. “ The latest edition ” always 
excites and delights me. I feel that error may have 
crept into it, but uncertainty itself possesses charm, 
and to know that you are possibly gaining tremen- 
dous information which those who devour more cau- 
tious organs will miss altogether is, in a measure, 
gratifying. Upon this subject hear Bacon : 


FOLLY AND FRESII AIR. 


3 


“ It is not,” he says, “ the lie that passeth through 
the mind, but the lie that sinketh in and settleth in 
it, that doth the hurt.” 

I said, in a quiet, casual way, 

“ Next Monday will see me trout-fishing on Dart- 
moor.” 

They all spoke simultaneously, but it being im- 
possible to reproduce here the effect thus created, I 
will write down each of their objections in turn. 

My mother said : 

“Why cannot you go abroad, like other young 
men ?” 

My sister said : 

“You don’t know one end of a fishing-rod from 
the other.” 

My aunt said : 

“Do nothing of the kind. You never could stand 
getting your feet wet ; and if you fish, they will, of 
course, be soaking from morning till night, and you 
may catch your death.” 

An old domestic, who had been in our family long 
before any records of it appear in history, ventured 
to say that she had known a young person who was 
born and bred on Dartmoor. 

She added that this native always declared it to 
be a most lonesome locality, and a dangerous. 

With some difficulty I traced each of these re- 
marks to its proper source, and answered them sepa- 
rately. I then wound up upon the question as a 
whole. 

“ If all other young fellows went abroad,” I be- 


4 


FOLLY AND FKESH AIR. 


gan, “then, merely for the sake of being the most 
original man in the world, I should not do so ; but 
many remain, for divers reasons, to enjoy such 
leisure as Providence permits them at home. Dur- 
ing August the sea-coast of this island is positively 
lined with young fellows ; and you shall meet a fair 
sprinkling inland also. I have no pressing reason 
for leaving England. I hold it desirable that one 
should at least achieve a nodding acquaintance with 
his mother -country, if possible. But think not I 
fear to wander abroad. Some day I shall certainly 
go, all being well, and trot about and enjoy the sights, 
and keep a diary, and do the thing handsomely.” 

To my sister I said : 

“You accuse me of not knowing one end of a 
fishing-rod from the other ; but, as a fishing-rod has 
only one end, your remark evidently lacks that sting 
and point you intended for it.” 

In this assertion of a fishing-rod having only one 
end I erred, as shall appear. 

To my aunt I replied : 

“A sportsman may fish without sustaining so 
much as dampness, if he be properly equipped. 
My equipment will in some respects be absolutely 
unique ; and though moisture surround me as I 
follow the trout into his own element, yet the 
water-proof paraphernalia which I purpose acquir- 
ing will preserve me dry as tinder.” 

My aunt said that she knew what mackintosh 
meant, no one better ; and then gave her reasons for 
disbelieving in all mackintosh. 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


5 


I turned to our venerable heirloom, she who had 
hinted that Dartmoor was dangerous and lonely. 

“ For those very qualities I seek it,” I said. “ I 
long to be alone, and in danger. I believe, if placed 
under conditions of extreme peril, that I should 
conduct myself in a way to surprise some of us not 
a little. There are possibilities about me in the 
matter of jeopardy which have yet to be fathomed. 
I have already done more or less heroic things. I 
saw a youth drowning on one occasion, and kept as 
cool as a cucumber about it, and remembered I could 
not swim, and called the attention of another man 
who could. Thus were two lives saved : mine, by 
myself, and the young fellow’s, by the other man. 
Understand, therefore, that I desire personal, im- 
minent peril. I court it ; I shall go out of my way 
to meet it. It is possible that I am one of those who 
never feel fear, and could, if necessary, stagger a 
lion with his piercing eye. There are no lions on 
Dartmoor, but wild creatures abound, and I may get 
a chance of staggering something. If I do, I shall 
bring it home with me and have it stuffed, and hung 
up prominently, so that even casual visitors can see 
the man I am.” 

“There happen to be poisonous snakes on Dart- 
moor,” said my sister. 

“ True ; go if you will, only don’t be foolhardy,” 
added my mother. 

I thought a moment — the snakes had slipped my 
memory. Then I passed the thing off lightly by in- 
quiring, 


c 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


“ Who’s afraid of serpents ?” 

They knew well enough. I have told them, in 
weak moments, that I loathe snakes ; but they did 
not remind me of my assertion then, for which I take 
this opportunity of thanking them now. Then I 
summed up and gave a verdict and pronounced 
judgment on myself ; by which time they were all 
waiting for me to make an end of dining. 

Having thus, to some extent, pulverized my fam- 
ily upon the question of a summer holiday, I relent- 
ed and went into particulars, giving them reasons, 
which appeared to me sufficiently sound, for this 
contemplated expedition. I had, in fact, learned 
through the medium of a vision that I ought to go 
fishing. A beautiful bit of dream-scenery had spread 
before me, and, in the midst of it, standing by sil- 
very margins of a silent lake, wielding a fishing-rod 
full fifty feet long with the ease and skill of a mas- 
ter, catching leviathans at every cast, -and harmoniz- 
ing with the landscape, I had observed myself. 

“This thing,” I told my family, “shall become a 
reality if I can bring it about.” 

Thereupon my sister hastened away to fetch a 
book some domestic gave her for a birthday present 
many years ago. This volume is called The Booh 
of Dreams , and professes to give a full and particu- 
lar explanation and interpretation of every dream 
or like mystery a man’s mind can produce. Of 
course, there was not a syllable about catching le- 
viathans in a silvery lake. 

The miserable work treated of idiotic nightmares 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


7 


— you could not call them respectable dreams ; but 
the moment my simple, lucid effort confronted it the 
charlatan broke down and had not a word to offer. 

Volumes of this sort arrest the intellectual prog- 
ress of any nation. There should be laws passed to 
annihilate such stuff as dream-books are made of. 

That night I wrote to my brother, the Doctor of , 
this narrative. I told him my scheme, and asked 
him frankly what he thought of it. I said I wanted 
advice— not that advice would make the smallest 
difference to my ultimate decision, any more than 
it would with anybody ; but still I wanted it, be- 
cause he might say that I was right to go. Then, 
by going, I should actually be following his advice, 
and thus putting him under a great obligation to me. 

Of the Doctor, before he comes upon the scene, I 
may say that he takes a pride in his profession. He 
is familiar with the Latin names of bones, has writ- 
ten profound treatises for medical journals, keeps to 
my certain knowledge a human baby in spirits of 
wine, and altogether seems to be pressing hard on 
the foremost surgeons of the day. But he tells me 
that there are now extant certain healers who pos- 
sess all his varied information, with much more be- 
sides. This, however, I take to be modesty upon his 
part. My own belief in him is such that I have 
frequently permitted him to prescribe for personal 
friends, and have even dallied with his choicer drugs 
myself upon occasion, when my system felt to need 
pharmaceutic aid. 

The lower classes will never realize that doctors 


8 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


are only ordinary beings ; but those behind the 
scenes see strange things and get opportunities of 
proving to themselves that medical men have much 
in common with their fellows. General practition- 
ers, I find, work extremely hard for a living, and while 
doing so incur bad debts of a nature to sour angels. 

Opinions concerning doctors’ bills vary so consid- 
erably that to dogmatize appears dangerous ; but, 
personally, I am bound to confess I see no reason 
why a medical man should not send in a bill from 
time to time. I cannot help thinking that he is 
well within his right to do so ; and, from his point 
of view, it is always worth trying, because many 
people in the feeble, convalescent stage will settle 
an account which they would never dream of pay- 
ing after robust health had again set in. But God 
bless the doctors ! — specialists and all ; and if j^ou 
make a rule of not paying in money, try gratitude — 
even that is too often denied them. 

I received a sensible letter from my brother. He 
said I was perfectly right to go on to Dartmoor; he 
declared it to be a happy thought of mine ; he ob- 
served that he contemplated a short change himself, 
and was half in the mind to come with me. “ But 
I know nothing of trout-fishing,” he concluded. 

I answered this immediately. I said that he must 
accompany me. “ As to angling,” I wrote, “ I will 
soon put you up to that. It will scarcely take you 
a week to know as much about it as I.” 

He replied, with his usual promptitude, on a post- 
card thus worded : 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


“All right ; can borrow things from a friend. 
Have bought book on fly -fishing, so that you shall 
not have absolute duffer to teach” 

His energy and grip of the affairs of life are ex- 
traordinary. Now he will meet me at Paddington 
in a day or two, with information about trout-fish- 
ing simply bubbling out of him. Before we cast a 
fly into the water he will know three times as much 
of the art as I do, and very possibly catch three 
times as many trout in consequence. I shall brazen 
it out, shall listen to him, running on about what he 
has read, with a knowing, experienced air; shall 
never permit him to suppose he is telling me any- 
thing I have not long since learned for myself ; and 
when it comes to actual angling, I shall advise him 
to work down stream while I go the other way. I 
may here tell you that the Doctor and I are respect- 
ively called by our friends “Fortiter in re,” and 
“Suaviter in modo,” but whether these cumbrous 
nicknames have been reasonably and rightly be- 
stowed upon us, this adventurous record will give 
you ample opportunity for deciding. I told my col- 
leagues in business the thing I proposed to do. 
Those who had already enjoyed their own holidays 
showed a certain mournful interest in me ; the oth- 
ers, with a selfish egotism one cannot condemn too 
severely, began explaining their own arrangements 
for the summer, forgetting that another man could 
not possibly feel particular interest in such purely 
personal plans. 

Once accepted and determined upon, a thousand 


10 


FOLLY AND FEESII AIE. 


minor matters, a thousand various suggestions and 
emendations, began to group themselves around the 
main scheme I had developed. A great idea is like 
a diamond : it flashes circles of prismatic light, that 
to me, from my mental point of vision, are crimson ; 
to you, purple; to another, golden ; to a fourth, the 
white, composite rays of Truth itself. Numerous 
trains of thought, all leading to points of interest 
and value, do stream from a great idea. After the 
master-mind creates a noble edifice, then lesser in- 
tellects begin to build it. In my case, however, the 
idea evolved and improved and grew from within 
itself. Thus I found, to begin with, that I knew 
much more about trout -fishing than I at first sup- 
posed. I treated of the angler’s art to an office boy, 
while messengers and clerks crowded round and lis- 
tened and showed interest. They asked me many 
questions concerning different intricate points. Some 
of these I answered off-hand; others, I explained, 
had never been satisfactorily cleared up. My official 
“Chief” tried to crush me — and failed. He said: 

“Ah, fly-fishing. Yes, grand sport. I know a man 
who really can fly-fish. I have myself seen him drop 
a fly into a pint-pot from a distance of thirty yards 
— thirty yards , mind you ! That is fishing !” 

“ Is it ?” I replied, for hesitation must have been 
fatal. “ Is it ? I should not have thought so. I see 
little to particularly admire in such a performance. 
Your friend can possess no judgment. Nothing was 
ever yet caught out of a pint-pot except delirium 
tremens , and you don’t fish for that with a fly.” 


FOLLY AND FRESII AIR. 


11 


People begin to suspect I have often fished. I do 
myself; it comes so natural to talk about it. Wheth- 
er it will come equally natural to do it I shall soon 
learn. My own theory, up to the present time, is 
this: I have lived before, as the Buddhist conceit is ; 
and in that previous existence was probably a noted 
fisherman. The science and skill acquired then are 
now coming dimly but steadily back ; and if I find 
that I can catch trout with tolerable ease, I shall be 
bound to regard the transmigration of souls as de- 
monstrable. 

But an ordeal of some severity had to be under- 
gone before I could start to the grand old Moor, 
carrying death and horror to many a fishy heart. It 
was necessary that I should purchase an outfit, and 
to do so must visit an anglers’ emporium, and con- 
front some more or less uncultured person whose 
knowledge of trout -fishing and all matters apper- 
taining to it would certainly exceed my own. 

For this interview I determined on a golden mean 
of conduct, lying between undue assertiveness on the 
one hand, and unmanly abasement upon the other. 
I should enter a shop quietly and naturally, and not 
allow myself to be astounded by anything I saw or 
heard ; I also decided to show familiarity with the 
different apparatus, and select the third rod submit- 
ted to me. This I thought of doing because three is 
regarded as a lucky number, and because it would 
reveal experience and ability in me to criticise and 
reject two rods that looked all right. 

The course thus sketched I pursued with fair sue- 


12 


FOLLY AND FEESH AIE. 


cess. Finding an admirable establishment, I entered 
it and asked to see some fly-rods. I said : 

“ I happen to want a new one.” 

Note the “new.” This, if properly understood, 
must have led the man to suppose that I owned hun- 
dreds of faithful, well-tried old rods, and now, just 
for the mad freak of the thing, thought about adding 
another to my collection. But it was not understood 
properly. The person in the shop appeared to be 
upset about some private concern, and answered, 
shortly : 

“We never sell any but new ones.” 

Then he dived out of sight behind his counter, and 
brought up a fishing-rod. He put it together with- 
out a word and handed it to me. I took it from him, 
weighed it, and frowned. Then I shut one eye and 
looked down the handle, as though I purposed shoot- 
ing something with it. Meanwhile the man regarded 
me in stony silence. I began to yearn for a word of 
encouragement from him. Even censure would have 
been more bearable than the look he cast at me. I 
felt as if I was doing wrong, grew nervous, and flour- 
ished the thing to show technical familiarity with it. 
This action fetched down a gas globe, which should 
have made conversation. I took the liberty of point- 
ing out that anybody showing technical familiarity 
with a trout rod here must destroy that gas globe 
every time the man renewed it. Still his taciturnity 
was such that I grew foolhardy, and advised him to 
modify^the whole scheme of his shop. This stung him 
into retort. He said any alteration would depend 


FOLLY AND FRESII AIR. 


13 


upon the extent of my custom. If I could limit my 
visits, and mention the date of them beforehand, he 
thought he should risk leaving things as they were. 
For which intentionally rude remark I snubbed him. 
I said : 

“Your rod won’t do for me. I don’t like it. I 
don’t like the make of it. The weight is in the 
wrong place. Take it away, please.” 

He pulled the rod to pieces, dived with it, and 
brought up another. I say “another,” but it looked 
so suspiciously like the identical rod he had just re- 
moved that I feared treachery. He put it up, and it 
resembled the first at every point. I said : 

“ I fancy this no better than the last. The weight 
still appears to me badly distributed. Let me see 
something of a different color.” 

There I had him. The two first rods were yellow, 
now he produced a dark brown one. I took to this 
from the first, thought highly of it, and ultimately 
purchased it. Thereupon the man brightened slightly 
and asked if I wanted anything else. I did require 
everything else, but doubted if it would be politic to 
tell him so. He must then have known me for a 
beginner purchasing an entire outfit. I might have 
told him I had lost all my tackle and fishing furni- 
ture in a fire, and so perhaps have deceived him in 
some degree, or I might have left him and bought 
my creel at another shop, my reel at another, my flies 
at a third, and so forth — like peojile purchase poison 
in small quantities at different chemists when they 
are bent on mischief. 


14 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


I decided to be frank, and told him there was a 
variety of other matters I needed. Then we went 
together into fly-books, and gut, and lines, and reels, 
and nets, and minor affairs. I appeared to be buy- 
ing up all the best things in the shop, and the man 
grew more and more cheerful. It was rather ex- 
traordinary, too, how I continually took a liking to 
all kinds of interesting inventions that had nothing 
to do with trout -fishing. There were imitation 
worms that I longed to secure, and handy deep sea 
trawls which seemed to be made for me. I also 
priced some fantastic bait for pike, a floating lamp, 
used for taking fish by night, and an otter spear ; all 
of which things, I confess, I should like to have had 
for my own. 

He kept me to the matter in hand, however, as 
closely as he could, and at length we came to the 
different kinds of fly — a most important considera- 
tion. 

The man knew little about Devon flies, but said 
he had one or two regular kinds that always killed 
there. 

I said that murderous insects of this sort, and 
regular in their habits, were exactly what I most re- 
quired. His artificial flies appeared both beautiful 
and attractive. There was one named “Blue Up- 
right,” though whether for its blueness or upright- 
ness, or the combination of these qualities, I could 
not gather. There were also “ Red Palmers,” “ Sil- 
ver-twists,” “ Black Gnats,” and a quaint piebald fly 
known as a “ Coachman.” This last, I was told, 


POLLY AND FP.ESII AIR. 


15 


might catch many a good fish after dark. I doubted 
if any really good fish would allow himself to be out 
after dark, and the man quite saw it was a joke, and 
laughed and grew almost affectionate. We parted 
warm friends. He said he trusted I should have 
sport, and added that if there was anything I needed 
while away I had better “wire” to him. For my 
part I thanked the man, and congratulated him upon 
his collection of prawn-snaring contrivances (which, 
though I knew they would be practically useless to 
me on Dartmoor, I none the less coveted). In the 
matter of sport I told him I was sanguine, though 
well aware that success is not to be commanded, 
and, finally, I promised that did any occasion for 
further angling necessaries arise he should be the 
first to hear of it. My other purchases were made 
without adventure at an India-rubber store. 

When I reached home and spread the spoil out, 
everything looked even better and more convincing 
than in the shops; so after dinner I humored my 
family, and dressed up in all that I had bought and 
put the rod together, and showed them how you fish 
— that is, how I fish. They were most encouraging. 
They said that they never thought it was in me to 
go off and buy such an outfit as this single-handed. 
They declared, of the rod, that it looked like catch- 
ing anything ; and, as a matter of fact, it did catch 
a trifle or two before I could get it down again. Of 
course a man must have ample room when fly-fish- 
ing. Give me the great desolate moorlands. 

By-the-way, a rod may have two ends. Mine has. 


16 


FOLLY AND FEESH AIE. 


I was wrong again, it seems. Anglers call them 
“tops,” but they are none the less ends, as my sister 
pointed out. 

The eve of departure finds me packing far into 
the night. To-morrow the Doctor will meet me at 
Paddington, and, together, full of courage and con- 
fidence, tempered with just enough modesty for two, 
we shall enter upon the campaign. 


FOLLY AND FRESII AIR. 


17 


CHAPTER II. 

THE START — LOSS OF NERVE AT PADDINGTON — AN OUTRAGE 
— THE DOCTOR APPEARS — FELLOW TRAVELLERS — “ SHOCK- 
ERS ” — CHAMPAGNE — SMILING DEVON — NIGHT ON THE 
MOOR — WE ARRIVE — A PRELIMINARY IIILL — TRYING REM- 
INISCENCE OF THE DOCTOR AS A SLEEPER. 

I am sitting at my ease in a hansom cab. Above 
me is a portmanteau and a cricket bag; beside me 
are the implements of that art I shall to-morrow be 
practising. I look out on the world, and feel kindly 
and large-hearted to everybody. I wish the whole 
of London was coming down to Dartmoor to loll 
about and breathe fresh air for once, and watch me 
fish. The thin and the care-worn, the desolate and 
the sad-looking flash past in one rapid panorama ; 
the busy, the happy, the pompous, the poor fill every 
street and wait at every crossing for me to pass. 
And yet I know that these are not really human 
beings I see around me ; it is not the roar of a work- 
ing city which I hear. The men and women are 
ghosts and phantoms, the thunder in my ears is but 
an echo of past storm and toil, for we are half-way 
through August and London is empty. It must be 
empty ; the newspapers all keep saying so. I detest 
that phrase. I should like to injure the sycophantic 
idiot who first made use of it. I believe when the 


2 


18 


FOLLY AND FEESII AIR. 


classes to which it refers read it, they blush. “ Emp- 
ty !” Was Paris empty — ? 

There I go ! It is always the same if I get a holi- 
day. The cap of liberty renders me unmanageable 
in a moment, and I burst out into a socialistic fever. 
I may not grow lucid again until I am chained to 
my desk once more. By the time I reach Padding- 
ton I shall be a red republican and refuse to pay 
for my ticket and incite the porters to mutiny, and 
ultimately get myself destroyed while fighting tooth 
and nail for my beloved country behind a barricade 
of the nobility’s luggage. 

These dreams fortunately come to nothing. The 
porters and people are too busy to heed any treason- 
ous declaration from me. For the matter of that, the 
air is already thick with short inflammatory speeches 
of every kind. Some folks lose their nerve fearful- 
ly when starting on a journey. I determine to keep 
myself to myself. I don’t want to irritate the whole 
staff of Paddington just because I am going into the 
country. If this wild crowd could leave off worry- 
ing and stand still a moment and watch me getting 
quietly through all the preliminaries of the start, it 
might benefit greatly. 

First find a porter. Make sure he is a porter, and 
then call him “ Guard.” This I did, and gave the 
man in question my baggage. I told him exactly 
what I wanted, and promised a reasonable reward if 
he would secure me two corner seats in a third-class 
smoking - carriage that was bound for Devonshire. 
He vanished, but I felt no fear. I had called the 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


19 


man a guard : his honor was now at stake. If he be- 
haved like a guard, he would be rewarded like a 
guard ; and if he could keep up his character of 
guard by putting me into a second or even a first- 
class carriage at the last moment, I knew that he 
would do so. 

I now go to the booking-office, to see individuals 
who have apparently never had occasion to take a 
ticket in their lives before. The unfortunate clerk 
has much to suffer here, but he shall find that a few 
rational people still travel third-class. I will come 
like a ray of brightness into his life. When my turn 
arrives, therefore, I step forward and speak briskly 
and to the point. I say : 

“ Third single, Devon.” 

The man did not rush to a pigeon-hole and get a 
ticket and punch it and dash it down. He simply 
shook his head and sighed ; then, turning, murmured 
to somebody behind him : 

“Lord ! what’ll they want next?” 

Then he spoke to me : 

“ There’s several stations in Devonshire. Got any 
particular fancy?” 

How the insolence of hired officials always mad- 
dens me. Such language as this, from a paltry Jack- 
in-office, was more than a man could be expected to 
stand. I confess it, I boiled over with indignation. 
I asked him how he dared to speak to the public in 
that way. I was going into the question of report- 
ing him, when some fool, instead of backing me up 
in the interests of passengers generally, must needs 


20 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


interfere and advise me to clear out of the box, and 
not make a show of myself, and not stop there all 
night, and give the others a chance, and leave the 
poor, over- worked man alone. I took my ticket, and 
went off and lost heart about going to Devonshire 
at all. Every man’s hand seemed to be against me. 
One moment I was the only collected, cool being on 
that huge platform ; the next I found myself reduced 
below the level of a Bank Holiday excursionist. I 
became entangled with a brace of sporting dogs who 
were going to Scotland, and hated the whole business 
and seemed in a worse state even than I was. One 
snapped at me, more in terror than rage, and I snap- 
ped back and raised a fishing-net which I was drag- 
ging about. In the act to strike, however, a mon- 
strous mountain of boxes on a truck bore down upon 
us, and very nearly settled the matter forever as far 
as the dogs and I were concerned. We all leaped 
wildly in different directions. They brought up one 
on each side of a weighing-machine, while I cannoned 
against an elderly woman, who was trying to kiss 
another elderly woman, who was doubtless going by 
train. A frightful complication ensued. Instead of 
kissing her, one elderly woman bit the other, and the 
bitten elderly woman did not understand that the 
thing was an accident, but implied, between outbursts 
of hysterics, that the other elderly woman had done 
it on purpose. Then my self-respect left me. I had 
separated two old friends, perhaps for life — worse : 
the bitten one might die, and did she do so, it was 
idle to suppose the other would long survive her. I 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


21 


slunk away and kid behind automatic toffee appara- 
tuses, and avoided men’s eyes and conducted myself 
so suspiciously that I believe plain clothes detectives 
were told off to watch me. This chaos of events 
happened inside two minutes and a half ; and then a 
voice that I knew fell upon my ear, and a hand I also 
knew upon my shoulder-blade. Turning, I beheld 
the Doctor, cased in a tweed suit that bristled with 
pockets. He was followed (not led) by a porter, and 
looked cool and dignified with the self-reliant gaze 
I should think he might put on when he fights Death 
for some patient’s life. Had he been the cynosure 
of every eye, instead of a unit in a stupid, hot-head- 
ed mob that did not know him from Adam, and did 
not want to, he could hardly have borne himself more 
gracefully. I said : 

“ Oh, you’ve come ! There are a couple of splen- 
did corner seats waiting for us somewhere.” 

He answered : 

“ Good. Just hold on to those, old man. I shall 
be back in half a second.” 

He then vanished, leaving me wrestling with a 
mass of fishing accoutrements, the things he had 
doubtless borrowed from some confiding patient. At 
this moment my porter saw me, and swooped down 
upon me joyfully. He said that all the third-class 
“smokers ” were full ; but that he and the guard of 
the train had talked it over quietly, and settled that 
my friend and I might travel second-class. Some- 
how, the knowledge of this fact mitigated my suffer- 
ings. Human nature loves to get more than its 


22 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


money’s worth. I took heart, and was on fairly good 
terms with myself when the Doctor came back again. 

He brought with him every sort of bodily refresh- 
ment ; and not to be behind him, I now hurried off 
and made a raid upon a book-stall. We cannot eat 
and drink and smoke for six hours ; there may be 
times when we shall want to read. I bought four 
“shilling shockers” and the illustrated weekly pa- 
pers. I also secured a serious work to study in the 
evenings while I was away, and a guide to Devon. 
Then I purchased a railway lamp, and a knife off a 
card, and a pencil-sharpener, and a travelling hat for 
the Doctor, and a few other absolute necessaries. I 
was just cheapening the price of a rug when my 
brother came and dragged me away. 

It is amusing to see how people fly at a book-stall 
the last thing before a journey. It shows great lack 
of forethought and economical feeling. Take the 
“shilling shockers,” for instance. If I had bought 
these yesterday at my bookseller’s, I should have 
saved threepence on each, thereby reducing them to 
“ ninepenny shockers.” But people like to do these 
things. They generally spend more than is necessary 
at the start of a holiday, but cut it pretty fine com- 
ing back. 

I arranged our corners snugly and comfortably. 
Our things filled both the hat -racks and made a 
good show on the seats as well. From my point of 
view the carriage was full, but a prying inspector 
peeped in and was astounded to find such compara- 
tive loneliness, and shouted, “ Room here !” 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


23 


There was a rush of four on the strength of this un- 
truthful assertion. An iron-gray man led the way, 
followed by a clergyman with a cold, and two sailor- 
boys with bundles. None of these people proved 
very interesting to us, excepting, perhaps, the iron- 
gray man, and it was only his method of amusing 
himself that made him attractive. He lighted a 
pipe, and settled down to Bradshaw, and read it from 
the beginning onward, as one might read a work of 
fiction. He evidently regarded it as such. We of- 
fered him the papers, but, after glancing through 
those which contained pictures, he turned from them 
back to the more enduring delights of the railway- 
guide. Sometimes he smiled, sometimes did little 
problems on paper ; and I could see he was run- 
ning trains into one another, and working out the 
collisions that Bradshaw provides for, and getting 
quiet, genuine fun from the book. 

The clergyman suffered terribly. He said he had 
been a victim to this identical cold ever since he was 
twelve years of age. He was now two-and-forty, 
and, to him, there seemed every appearance of the 
thing becoming chronic. We cheered him, and the 
Doctor cited instances of men who had endured just 
such a malady as his, and suddenly, when they had 
given up all hope, it had left them and vanished, 
never to return. He promised to send the clergy- 
man a prescription in a fortnight’s time, and the suf- 
ferer thanked him, and said that as he had stood the 
cold for thirty years a couple of weeks more could 
not make much difference either way. 


24 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


As for the sailor-boys, they should not have been 
allowed to travel second-class. They would have 
disgraced a luggage train. One had apples with 
him, and the other red-herrings. They were going 
to Plymouth to join their training-ship. They had 
already come from Yarmouth that morning, and 
were sulky and sad, and more or less profane, be- 
cause their holidays were over. The boy w r ith the 
apples made use of the same adjective six times in a 
short sentence, wrongly applying it in every case. 
This word, I could see, was the backbone of his vo- 
cabulary. He used it unsparingly ; he worked it to 
death, and found that it lent nervousness and color 
to his various narratives and reminiscences. Both 
lads smoked some horrible and searching compound 
which necessitated lavish expectoration ; and pres- 
ently, when the more assertive of them went to sleep 
with his head pillowed on the red -herrings, we all 
agreed that rest was what he wanted, and forbade his 
comrade to wake him up again. 

The Doctor, as I expected, soon began upon our 
errand. He asked when and where I learned to fish. 
He said he had borrowed some splendid gear from a 
man who knew all about it. He told me several 
things -which surprised me ; among others, that Ave 
should both have to get licenses before Ave could 
fish. If Ave did not, Ave should be poaching instead 
of fishing honorably, and should probably be taken 
away by keepers and haled before Justices of the 
Peace, and by them sentenced to terms of imprison- 
ment, the shortest of Avhich Avould possibly extend 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 25 

beyond the limits of the spare time at our disposal. 
These facts certainly gave the future an air of im- 
portance. I thought anybody might fish in a Dart- 
moor stream ; but when it comes to keepers and 
magistrates and licenses, the undertaking grows 
more serious and business-like. Then I told the 
Doctor what I knew, and explained some of the 
tricks of the trade, and showed him my book of 
flies, pointing out those which were never known to 
fail. 

He said : 

“ That is very well ; but a day of practical experi- 
ence beats all the talk of shop-people, who have an 
interest in selling things, and, of course, say the best 
they can for them. What is your own opinion? 
Have you yourself known these flies to fail?” 

“Well, candidly, I never have seen them fail 
yet,” I answered ; adding, mentally, that perhaps it 
was on the cards I should get some such experience 
before long. 

Our conversation began to grow “ shoppy.” I can 
see that we are just the men to tell tall fishing sto- 
ries to perfection, and build up splendid anecdotes 
and tremendous adventures. For my own part, I 
feel I could already blossom out into tales of past 
achievements, nor would the fact of never having 
achieved anything in the past cause me to hesitate ; 
but I know that such a course must put my brother 
at a disadvantage, for he has openly confessed to 
never fishing before. I have it under his hand and 
seal. 


26 


FOLLY AND FEESH AIE. 


Presently we subsided. The Doctor picked up a 
newspaper, I, the first volume from my library of 
shilling romances. It described rather a funny se- 
ries of family murders by a medical student. He 
began with the purely tentative assassination of an 
aunt ; he then killed three distant connections, using 
a different poison in each case. Encouraged by 
these preliminary successes, he destroyed his pa- 
rents, hoodwinked the cream of Scotland Yard, and 
ultimately, after leaving no member of his unhappy 
race alive, slew himself in a thunder-storm on the 
Alps. 

Feeling better and greater for this study, I hand- 
ed it to my brother with a word of praise. He read 
two chapters, upon my recommendation, and then, 
in a fit of foolish, professional fury, pitched the 
book out of the window, saying that its toxicology 
was fearful. 

I blamed him. I said : 

“ You cannot be too careful in distributing litera- 
ture. That book was never written for plate-layers 
and other people who have business on the six-foot 
way. How some narrow-minded navvy may pick 
up the thing, wade through it, and missing the lesson 
it teaches, be caught with its meretricious dazzle of 
successful crime. Fired by such an example, he 
may try it himself, and poison somebody, and fail 
to escape, and so make a bad end. Or the book may 
throw a train off the rails ; it is exciting enough to 
do this.” 

At Swindon the Doctor’s forethought on the ques- 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


27 


tion of commissariat became apparent. While oth- 
ers were fuming and struggling at the refreshment 
bar, greedily devouring anything that was thrown 
to them, and begging, like the sorriest mendicants, 
for something to drink, we, in our second-class cor- 
ner, organized a princely banquet. My brother got 
down a luncheon basket, full of the most delicate 
sustenance. Then he plunged under the seat for 
his cricket-bag, from which he extricated, with some 
difficulty, a bottle of champagne and an India-rub- 
ber cup. This champagne, as it illustrates a very 
peculiar trait in the Doctor’s character, must have a 
paragraph to itself. 

Champagne in trains is one of his great hobbies. 
He never will go anywhere without a bottle. No 
matter how short the journey or how unimportant, 
some part of it is always spent in drinking cham- 
pagne. If he had to travel on the Underground 
Railway between — say the Temple and Charing 
Cross — he would contrive to get an element of 
champagne into the trip. He always shares it with 
somebody else if there is a fellow-passenger. Cau- 
tious people occasionally suspect the Doctor is try- 
ing to drug them, and refuse to drink. If he has to 
travel alone, he invites in a guard to make merry. 
There was a guard on a Great Northern express 
who nearly lost his life crawling down outside the 
carriages to take wine with my brother. But a man 
might have a worse fad than this. There is no 
doubt that champagne whiles away the time in a 
train. You get the excitement of opening it and 


28 


FOLLY AND FEESH AIR. 


criticising it and pouring it out, and, of course, 
drinking it. The amusement is even greater if you 
have such a vessel as we had, for the number of 
men in England who have drunk champagne out of 
an India-rubber cup is probably to be counted on 
one hand. 

We hastened onward past beautiful Bath and 
grimy Bristol, with a fair vision of Clifton and its 
mighty bridge seen dimly behind a veil of smoke ; 
then, through Somersetshire, and at last, in setting 
sunlight, amid ruddy promises of apple harvest and 
golden fields of waving corn, amid Devon orchards 
and Devon pasturages, laced with silver streams, 
into a land of peace and plenty we glided, and drew 
up at the sleepy capital thereof. 

I may remark that our destination was Tavy bridge, 
a Dartmoor village, distant about ten miles from 
Plymouth, and having a railway station all to itself, 
with time-tables and signals, and a siding and a 
station-master, and everything complete. Here lodg- 
ings, already secured by post, awaited us, but before 
reaching our haven it was necessary to change trains 
at Exeter. Changing of trains is sometimes a trou- 
blesome business if you have luggage; but, as the 
Doctor pointed out, our heavy goods were labelled 
and could not go wrong, and though we were not 
labelled and therefore at our own risk, yet all went 
well, and the final stage of the pilgrimage was quick- 
ly reached. 

Then, in a fading glimmer of opal, western light 
we found ourselves out on Dartmoor. The great, 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


29 


gloomy land stretched away into distant darkness. 
Here we rushed through cuttings deep and black ; 
here sped round the shoulder of some lofty hill; * 
here hastened across spidery viaducts that hung 
above forests, and wildernesses of rock and tiny 
white threads — which we knew were trout streams — 
boiling and bubbling down the deep gorges. And 
presently the stars vanished, and the gold and crim- 
son clouds that had an hour before flooded the 
western sky grew black and massed themselves into 
a vast dome of driving mist ; while finally, after 
passing many small stations with singular names, we 
stopped at the smallest of them all ; and the guard 
declared it to be Tavybridge, so we got out, stiff 
and drowsy, and our luggage was pitched out after 
us. Then the train steamed away until its red tail- 
lights vanished in the mist, and we, feeling lonely, 
turned to seek local aid and guidance. 

The Doctor called for a cab, as Britons invariably 
do, no matter where chance may find them. I know 
men who, if they fell out of a balloon onto the 
North Pole, would immediately call a cab, suppos- 
ing they had enough breath left for the purpose. 

Those to whom my brother gave his order laughed, 
and one said: 

“ Bain’t no such thing i’ the jfiaace.” 

“How are we going to get these portmanteaus 
and bags away, then ?” I asked. 

“’Pends wheer you wants ’em tuk tu,” answered 
the man. 

“ We want them taken down to the village, or up 


30 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


to the village, as the case may be,” and I mentioned 
the name of the house. The porter called a mate, 
who showed a ray of dawning intelligence. 

“You wants to go down long over the bridge, I 
reckon,” he said. The Doctor mentioned that our 
future landlady was one Mrs. Yallack; upon hearing 
which the second porter’s dawning intelligence burst 
out into quite a sparkle of intellectual brightness. 
He knew perfectly whom we meant. lie had known 
her for years. She was a married woman with one 
child. He was actually related to her — her husband, 
in fact. Nothing could have been more opportune 
than this meeting. He would take our luggage on 
a truck, and lead us to the place. We asked him if 
we were expected. He said for all he knew to the 
contrary we might be. His wife looked after letting 
the rooms and such like ; the railway took him all 
his time. It was his custom to get up at five o’clock 
in the morning and shunt trucks. He said it was use- 
ful work that he liked and did well. He added that 
no healthier occupation could be found anywhere. 

It is interesting to note how fond men grow of 
work they can do well. The meanest tasks acquire 
a certain dignity when we find their exponents thus 
superlatively clever, each after his kind ; and each 
properly impressed with the importance and value 
to the community of his own particular occupation. 
Take fish-cleaning. This is the main business in life 
of many men ; and they are right to pride them- 
selves on their ability, for the success of ten thou- 
sand dinners daily hangs upon their efforts. 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


31 


We started down a hill of infinite steepness, and 
walked in single file, that none of our property 
might be left by the way-side. Every ten yards or 
so something dropped off the truck. A few trifles 
rolled on ahead, and the man told us we should find 
them altogether at the foot of the precipice ; but 
others stuck in the hedges, and we were kept active- 
ly employed. What the Doctor missed, I, walking 
last, recovered. Presently I picked up a lawn-tennis 
racket — one of Tate’s, a very high-class affair of my 
brother’s. He insisted on bringing it, though I told 
him lawn-tennis was out of the question. He is an 
enthusiast in this matter, and carried his point. He 
said that one never knows what may happen. Poor 
misguided man ! for him, in the near future, there 
looms an experience connected with this pastime 
that shall prove an earthquake in the even high- 
road of his life. 

We reached the bottom of the hill, crossed a 
bridge, and struck off into Cimmerian darkness. Our 
leader himself appeared a little uncertain of the 
route. He said that he had only lived in his pres- 
ent habitation a matter of two years. 

“ ’Tis a roundabout way, sure enough,” he ad- 
mitted. We urged him on and made suggestions, 
and he concentrated his energies and got up a sort 
of bank with the truck; then he turned another cor- 
ner and we had arrived before an open door, casting 
a flood of warm light through the gloom, and dimly 
outlining the house to which it formed an entrance. 
A pleasing, tiny cottage it was, smothered up in 


32 


FOLLY AND FRESII AIR. 


trees and flowers and twining foliage. The murmur 
of water sang in our ears from some adjacent spot, 
great red and yellow roses peeped out of the night 
on either side, scenting the damp air. 

The landlady welcomed us in a right spirit of 
hospitality, and conducted us to a repast already pre- 
pared. She said she knew her Bill would bring us 
safely along. The supper was a Devon one. We 
had squab pie (a mystery of blended flavors), cream 
and honey, pasties of summer fruits, junket, and 
cider or small beer as we chose. 

After these things we smoked and laid plans until 
the question of rest was raised. Then Mrs. Yallack 
gave us a choice between two courses. Either we 
might share a double-bedded chamber, or else one of 
us might have a single room here and the other a 
similar apartment next door. It appears we are semi- 
detached. An apple-tree conceals the remainder of 
the building entirely and deceives the most gimlet- 
eyed people. 

I do not rest in the same room with the Doctor. He 
is the most energetic sleeper. His nights are one 
long series of “ alarums and excursions;” that is, 
when he finds himself in a strange bed. Force of cir- 
cumstances once made it necessary for me to repose 
with him on a winter’s night in a four-poster at an inn. 
I remember the whole affair as though it happened 
yesterday. He said “ Good-night to you,” and gave 
himself a sharp half-turn and was apparently asleep 
in a moment. The half-turn had embraced every- 
thing the bed was made of, excepting the corner of 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


33 


one blanket, which I employed to the best advantage 
I could, not' caring to waken him. He might have 
slept about two minutes when he began talking gen- 
erally. Now I object to hear men discussing their 
private affairs in sleep. There may be some horrid 
secret in.the Doctor’s life, some black, dastardly busi- 
ness of his youth he would rather I did not know, 
and which I would much rather not know myself. 
I therefore roused him by dragging a pillow away, 
and so shattered his pending confession in the bud. 
Thereupon he laughed a wild laugh, and grit his 
teeth, which is a hateful sound to hear in the still 
watches of the night. Presently he began plunging 
up and down, like a ship at sea. Then he shook the 
whole framework of the bed, and sat up and slapped 
his pillow and tore the clothes into great mountains 
round him, leaving me pretty much as I was born. 
His next move was to -strike a match and look at the 
time. He evidently thought it had been near morn- 
ing, aud he sighed a heart-rending sigh when he 
found it still five minutes short of two. He was 
silent, thinking over this for a while. Then a cuckoo- 
clock struck the hour just outside our door. This 
brought him out of bed instantly. “ That doesn’t 
go on,” he said to himself ; “ no human being could 
sleep through that.” So he disappeared, striking 
matches, and hitting himself against the furniture. 
I had half a mind to lock the door on him, but did 
not risk it. He would have roused the house. I con- 
tented myself, therefore, with grabbing as much of 
the bed as I could carry off, and sneaking into a 
3 


34 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


corner, between a wash-hand-stand and the wall, and 
there camping out in coldness and misery, but com- 
parative safety. Presently he returned. He was 
laughing softly, and when he lighted a match to see 
his way back, he looked as though he had been out 
committing a murder. He did not miss me, which I 
w^as thankful for, but he missed his pillow and the 
top sheet of the bed, and one or two other trifles. 
I heard him pulling the drapery about, and tugging 
and tearing and whispering questionable words. Then 
something gave way, and quiet reigned for nearly 
three minutes. Suddenly, without any warning, he 
flung a boot at me, as I lay peacefully in my corner. 
He failed to hit me, but the boot landed on the wash- 
hand-stand, and broke a vessel there which contained 
water almost at freezing point. This poured straight 
down onto my chest. Then I spoke uj) in a voice 
hoarse with rage and sleep. I said it was a sin and 
a shame to make night hideous in this fashion. I 
said if he wanted to conduct himself like some noc- 
turnal beast of prey, he had better go and do so out 
of doors. I asked him what he meant by daring to 
fling things at me. He said : 

“ Oh ! it’s you, is it ? I thought it was mice. 
What the dickens d’you want crawling about in 
corners at this hour of night for?” 

I answered : 

“ I’m not crawling about — merely trying to get a 
wink of sleep, if you would give me half a chance.” 

Then he asked : 

“ Why cannot you sleep in bed like a Christian ?” 


x FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


85 


I replied, bitterly: 

“I can, and generally do. You don’t know what 
Christian sleep is. I’d rather go to bed with a hyena 
than with you.” 

“ Well,” he said, “I’ll thank you for the top sheet 
of this bed.” 

“ Never!” I answered, and told him that such 
meagre fragments of covering as I had been able to 
secure should not leave me while life remained. 
Almost immediately afterwards he snored, and I my- 
self sank into troubled slumber. In rather less than 
half an hour he leaped up again, crying for air, and 
declaring that the ventilation was beneath contempt. 
He opened the window, though it was a bitter night, 
and organized a biting blast that nearly blew me 
out of my corner. Then he told me not to keep 
whining all night, but at least give him an oppor- 
tunity to sleep, if I did not want to do so. 

Again there was silence, broken this time by a 
sound so unearthly and so near that I felt my 
heart stop beating to listen. The Doctor was all 
across the room in a second, full of life and excite- 
ment. 

“ It’s a death-rattle !” he said. 

“ Death-rattle !” I answered, with feeling, for I had 
grasped the nature of the thing. “ It is that wretched 
cuckoo-clock trying to ‘cuckoo,’ and failing because 
you have destroyed its inside. To-morrow you will 
be summoned, and I’m jolly glad of it.” 

The clock went on imitating a death-rattle for at 
least a minute ; then its emotion became more than 


36 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


it could support, and we heard it apparently fall 
down-stairs. 

Next morning I rose early and watched my brother 
sleeping, and smiling in his sleep like an infant. He 
awoke leisurely and asked me how I had fared. He 
had evidently forgotten everything. I answered, 
with satire, that I had rarely enjoyed a better night, 
and he was glad, and said that ho, too, had done 
very well for a strange bed and felt much refreshed. 
If this is one of his good nights, his indifferent nights 
must be interesting, to watch, and his right down 
bad nights a sort of superior devils’ dance or Wal- 
purgis revel. 

So the Doctor, it is decreed, shall lie next door ; 
and we tell the landlady that we breakfast early, as 
a rule, but not to-morrow. 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


37 


CHAPTER III. 

THE VILLAGE OF TAVYBRIDGE — A PROCESSION — LICENSES 
FOR CATCHING OF SALMON — WE MAKE A START — THE 
FIRST TROUT — ASTOUNDING ADVENTURE WITH ANGELS — 
THE SECOND TROUT — THE DOCTOR^ LACK OF VERACITY — 
SATIRE — LOCAL CRITICS. 

A daylight survey of the cottage revealed many 
interesting facts about it. Both from artistic and 
sporting stand-points the place was beautifully situ- 
ated. We, the cottage and the Doctor and I, nes- 
tled amid trees in a valley ; the moorland extended 
above and before ; separated only by an orchard and 
a strip of meadow, there ran the stream we had heard 
singing on our arrival — a typical mountain trout- 
stream, doubtless well stocked with typical mountain 
trout. 

The day was fine, and we found ourselves up and 
eating breakfast much earlier than seemed likely 
over-night. The Doctor had made rather a startling 
discovery on the preceding evening. He told me 
that though the semi - detached house in which he 
slept modestly hides behind an apple-tree, and upon 
this side looks as innocent a little building as possi- 
ble, yet upon the other side it throws off all dis- 
guise, and stands up square and bold by the high- 
road, and extends a sign that declares it to be a 


38 


FOLLY AND FKESH AIR. 


place of refreshment for man and beast. Within 
he found a landlord and a bar and a bar-parlor, but 
everything clean and well ordered. His chamber 
faced out upon the modest side of the building. 
He could leap from it into the apple - tree, he ex- 
plained, and added that if there was a fire he should 
do so. He found, also, that the window of his room 
might almost be reached from mine, which fact led 
to some tribulation, as shall presently appear. 

We resolved to lose no time in hastening to Plym- 
outh after breakfast, in order to return the sooner, 
legally qualified to begin sport. A train left Tavy- 
bridge for Plymouth at eleven o’clock, and by this 
it was decided we would travel. 

The Doctor suggested starting early for the sta- 
tion, in order to get a sight of the village by the 
way ; but it was impossible to help doing so, for we 
found that what we had taken the previous evening 
to be merely some desolate sheep - track down the 
face of an almost perpendicular precipice, was in 
reality the High Street of Tavy bridge. The life 
and industry of the place extend up this tremendous 
acclivity. Here is the cottage where West of Eng- 
land newspapers are sold through a side window; 
here is the post-office and centre for buying honey ; 
here may be seen a blacksmith’s forge, a police con- 
stabulary station, a church “fast bound in misery 
and iron,” except on Sundays ; and a sort of pocket 
Whiteley’s, where you can get anything you need, 
from a mouse - trap to a coffin. The chain of con- 
necting links between these two dissimilar articles 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


39 


is worth noting. The mouse-trap suggests cheese, 
the cheese suggests nothing but itself, for we tried 
it. Then we have tea and sugar and fusees and can- 
dles and household goods generally, and wearing 
apparel and jewelry and trinkets and articles of 
vertu and clothes-pegs. Almanacs flame with the 
crude horrors of cheap chromo-lithography. There 
are also to be bought children’s playthings and 
sweetmeats. Finally may be mentioned quaint prep- 
arations of elderberry and wild raspberry, concocted 
after recipes of which the secret is carefully pre- 
served. These are flaunted in bottles and labelled 
“Wine,” of which, when a man drinks, he shall 
come, peacefully and speedily, to require nothing 
further save the narrow resting-place above named. 

It was necessary, before ascending this remarkable 
street, to cross the stream already mentioned. The 
Doctor pushed on. here, and for a few moments I 
found myself alone upon the solid and ancient bridge 
which gives its name to the village. Strictly speak- 
ing, I am wrong to say that I was quite alone. 
Upon the coping of the bridge there sat a strangely 
beautiful fly. Its eyes were brown and protuberant, 
its body gleamed with dazzling, metallic lustre, its 
transparent wings flashed in the morning sunlight. 
It was, in fact, a blue-bottle, and I wanted it. The 
Mea in my mind had reference to an experiment. I 
conceived that trout must like such a fly as this, and 
would probably rise and devour it if they got a 
chance to do so. There was a deep pool just below 
the bridge, and by floating the fly gently over this 


40 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


it might be possible to prove what the stream con- 
tained of a trouty nature. 

The blue-bottle was tidying himself for the day, 
when I stole upon him from the rear, and with a 
dexterous jerk of the hand made him a prisoner. I 
did not kill him, but merely struck him lightly twice 
over the back of the head with a pipe-stem, thus ren- 
dering him unconscious for the time. If there be no 
trout below, he need fear nothing. He will float 
gently down, and the cold water will revive him, 
and he will presently bring up fast on a straw or 
what not, and think and rest, and ultimately fly 
home, with no worse hurt than a passing headache. 
If, on the contrary, there are trout waiting, he will 
die a valuable death and a comparatively painless 
one. I thought this out in a kind-hearted way and 
pitched him in. All was over before one might 
count five. A trout of insignificant size, but auda- 
cious to a degree I could scarcely have imagined, 
rose from its lair and gorged the ill-fated insect. 
Hot a leg was left to tell the tale, and the trout dis- 
appeared, leaving but a bubble of foam to mark the 
blue-bottle’s untimely grave. 

That there are trout here is now proved beyond 
question. I can see them rising and feeding freely. 
They appear small, for the most part, but this is an 
optical illusion. The water makes them look small ; 
moreover, the smallest fish are sweetest. I must 
never forget this last maxim. “ Quality before quan- 
tity ” shall be my watchword. Give me sweetness 
rather than size. 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


41 


I presently overtook the Doctor watching a pro- 
cession. The procession consisted of one duck, 
coming down the hill on a sort of raised foot-path. 
It was walking as though keeping time to military 
music. It bowed occasionally to the right and left. 
It spread itself out, and seemed to embrace banners 
and trophies and chariots. It was a regular trium- 
phant entry, with a cheering mob and brass bands 
and illuminated addresses. It went swaggering and 
“ my lording” it down the hill, simply bursting 
with importance, till it tripped and fell heels over 
head into the road. Then it threw pomp to the 
winds, and got down into a gutter, and waggled its 
tail, and went on like a common duck that one would 
not look round after. The whole scene was, I be- 
lieve, undertaken that we might gain amusement, 
for a duck, when it is in the vein, can go through a 
bit of tomfoolery, keeping its face the while, and 
preserving a stolid, serious air throughout, in a man- 
ner quite irresistibly entertaining. There are not a 
few men, by-the-way, whose lives may be compared, 
in each individual case, to a triumphant procession 
of one. Such contain in their own persons all the 
component parts of a Lord Mayor’s show. Right 
egotists that they are, to them neither time nor earth 
nor life can show any considerable facts or certain- 
ties save the supreme fact and certainty of their 
own existence ; and they stamp and splutter their 
little hours, each crying, “ Self, self, self ; look at me 
and learn, ere I be taken up to Heaven as a thing 
too choice to waste my sweetness here.” But it 


42 


FOLLY AND FEESH AIR. 


comes about that among all those strange ciphers 
which go to make the sum of mankind, none are so 
friendless, unhonored and unwept, as these poor self- 
adorers. Let every man allow handsome discount 
from the price he is secretly disposed to set upon 
himself ; let no man live on a Stylite’s pillar of his 
own importance and conceit. Viewed from the 
ground, he ever appears singularly ridiculous there. 
And avoid getting self-opinionated. Opinions and 
prejudices are frequently synonymous terms. Nine 
men out of ten have too many opinions and too lit- 
tle information. 

We reached the station, and found Mr. Vallack. 
He pointed out sundry cattle-trucks in a siding. 
These, he said, were to he added to our train when 
it arrived ; and he explained how he should arrange 
and carry through the whole affair himself, with 
never a bit of help from a soul. But a horse per- 
formed the manual labor, while he did the head-work. 

I was amazed to find, when we reached Plymouth 
and applied for licenses, that in addition to buying 
those which would allow us to catch trout, we had 
also to purchase permission to secure salmon. 

I said : 

“ Surely there must be some mistake. I have not 
come down here to catch salmon. Such a step would 
involve a new creel, and a thousand other things. 
Now cannot you take our united word for it ? If 
we catch a salmon we will put it back at once, and 
be particularly careful not to hurt so much as a fin. 
This we promise.” 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


43 


The man said : 

“ It is a rule of the Association. You cannot have 
one without the other.” 

So we bought both. The salmon license is cer- 
tainly rather gratifying to read, though it probably 
will not amount to much, at any rate, in my case. 
As for the Doctor, he is just the man to get excited 
about this wholesale permission to fish for salmon, 
and fling himself into it,, and grasp the spirit of the 
thing, and finally secure magnificent thirty and for- 
ty-pound specimens, which would have been perfect- 
ly safe from him had the Fishing Association not 
made such a fuss about it, and insisted upon empow- 
ering him to angle for them. 

My license, as I say, reads remarkably well : 

“ The Board of Conservators, appointed for such 
and such a District, being so much of such and such 
Rivers and their Tributaries as is situate in such 
and such Counties, and also so much of another Riv- 
er, and also the estuaries of the said Rivers, and so 
much of the Coast as is defined by a Certificate un- 
der the hand of one of Her Majesty’s Principal Sec- 
retaries of State, deposited in the offices of the Clerk 
of the Peace for such a County, by virtue of the 
powers vested in them under the Salmon Fishery 
Act, 1865, do hereby authorize ME to fish with a 
Rod and Line, for Salmon,” etc., etc. 

I think this is handsome. You would be sur- 
prised to know how cheap it was. By - the - way, 
while allowing a rod and line, they carefully ab- 
stain from saying anything about a hook or fly. I 


44 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


always thought these legal documents were so ex- 
act, too. 

At the establishment where our licenses were pro- 
cured, and which, I may say, is a highly celebrated 
one, kept by a most expert and able fisherman both 
on sea and river, we bought a variety of new flies, 
designed after well-known local insects, which moor 
trout preferred before those that were less familar 
to them. We also purchased a guide to the streams 
we should presently assail, and a map of their divers 
courses. 

I read the guide as we returned to Tavybridge 
by an afternoon train, and the Doctor grappled 
with the map. 

~Now there was nothing between the trout and 
death but a few fleeting hours of time. The Doc- 
tor and I partook, on returning, of a light tea, and 
as the clock struck six sallied forth, armed to the 
teeth, to fish till darkness should end the day. 

We crossed the bridge, turned to the left, up 
stream, and quickly found ourselves by the water. 
The fishing varied with the country : some was 
beautifully open, some — -all the best spots— we re- 
garded, on this first visit, as quite inaccessible. We 
passed by several likely reaches, on account of the 
trees that hung over them. We saw that if a big 
fish was hooked in these places there would be no 
possibility of landing him. Finally, we came out on 
to an open meadow, before some perfect water be- 
low a little weir. 

The Doctor said : 


FOLLY AND FEESH AIK. 


45 


. “ There can be no excuse for not fishing here. 
I’m going to begin.” 

I replied : 

“My boy, you couldn’t have a better chance 
than you will get here. Take my advice and 
fish every inch of it. I’ll go on above the water- 
fall.” 

I left him cheerily putting up his rod as though 
to the manner born. About half a mile or so be- 
yond, Dartmoor stretched forth a hand, laden with 
fern and golden gorse and heather and briers, and 
came down to kiss the little river. The stream’s 
banks here shelved gradually, and the water pre- 
sented a series of miniature lakes, each of which 
my fisher’s instinct told me contained its colony of 
trout. 

I put up my rod, and it flashed in the ruddy rays 
of the setting sun. I got the gear into working 
order and fastened on two flies, both warranted kill- 
ers. I then cast forth for a draught. Nothing hap- 
pened. The flies went sailing along, looking won- 
derfully life-like, and there must have been fish 
about that saw them, but not a trout rose. I tried 
again with the same meagre result, and so began 
gradually working up stream, flogging the water 
industriously. It was a perfect evening. Great 
shafts of glory fell across the meadow from the 
west; a delightful freshness filled the air; gnats 
danced' old country-dances over the river. I was 
watching one of these merry little companies and 
admiring the mysterious manner in which each in- 


46 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


sect moves in unison with the rest, when a painful 
incident occurred. The quadrille, or whatever it 
was, got down too near the water, noting which, a 
bold, fearless fish leaped upward and carried away 
the master of the ceremonies. I was upon that trout’s 
track in an instant. I dropped my fly with admi- 
rable precision a couple of inches above his nose, and 
allowed it to gently float over him. He dashed at 
it like a tiger, and the next moment, by a rapid up- 
ward motion, I struck him. How, had he been a 
personable fish, my action would have firmly hook- 
ed him, after which I should have proceeded to play 
him as treatises on the art direct; but he was not an 
important trout in any sense of the word, and when 
I struck him he flew out of the stream over my 
head, as though he had been a flying-fish, and ulti- 
mately got himself and my gear entangled with a 
furze-bush, quite fifteen yards inland. 

I have now caught a trout ; and if, as I am w r ell 
assured, the smallest fish are sweetest, there lies be- 
fore me a dish fit for the gods. 

And here a scene so romantic, so mystical, so un- 
paralleled in its theatrical effect, befell me, that I 
am constrained to cast it dramatically. It almost 
amounted to a short miracle-play, and I shall thus 
treat it. I was wondering whether such a singularly 
minute trout as this might justly be deemed fair 
game, when, from the glorious after-glow of the 
evening, there appeared a radiant figure and stood 
beside me, and from the dark shadows that now 
began to creep out of approaching night, a gloomy 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


47 


form arose and took his place upon my left hand. 
Then was enacted : 

LIFE OR DEATH? 

A one act drama , of which the dramatis personae 
were : 

A GOOD ANGEL. A BAD ANGEL. 

AN ANGLER. A YOUNG TROUT. 

The characters are all assembled on the banlc of a 
Dartmoor stream ; the trout is lying quite out of his 
element in the foreground. 

Good Angel. It’s too ridiculous. Who ever heard 
of keeping a trout that size ? Let me beg of you to 
put it back without delay. 

Bad Angel. Do nothing of the kind. Keep it. 
The fish is yours, honestly come by. Providence has 
delivered this trout into your hand. If you reject 
the gift, Providence will be very much annoyed and 
probably prevent you from getting any more. 

Good Angel. On the contrary. Providence made 
you catch this fish in order to try you. Put it back 
at once, and you will be handsomely rewarded. 

Bad Angel. Why put it back? It was caught 
in the fair way of sport. It is not a bad trout, as 
trout run in this stream ; and the smallest fish are 
sweetest. 

The Angler. Hear, hear. 

Good Angel. Only up to a certain point. This 
trout is absolutely immature. It becomes sheer cruel- 


48 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


ty in such a case to keep it. Look at the poor little 
creature gasping out its life. 

Bad Angel. There you go: trying to get senti- 
ment into the argument. Be logical, if you can. 

Good Angel. You are a fine one to talk about 
logic ! What’s the logic of killing an undersized 
creature like this ? 

Bad Angel. Logic and sport have nothing in 
common. You’re no sportsman, anyhow. 

Good Angel. The less you say about sport the 
better. 

Bad Angel. Oh, go along with you — I can’t talk 
to you. 

Good Angel. That’s right : lose your temper ! 

The Angler. Order ! This is merely a matter of 
opinion — nothing to get cross about that I can see. 

The Young Trout. If I may be permitted to — 

Bad Angel (interrupting). Order! Order! you’ve 
no voice in the matter at all. 

The Young Trout. I admit it. I neither wish 
to influence the decision nor join in the discussion ; 
but as I am extremely unwell and shall be as dead 
as a door-nail in about half a minute, I would vent- 
ure to suggest that some conclusion be arrived at 
as soon as possible. 

Good Angel. I appeal to you on behalf of this 
fish, first as man, secondly as a lover of justice and 
reason, thirdly — 

{Loud cries of “ Divide ” from the Bad Angel 
and the Trout.) 

The Angler {talcing up trout). Bright spirit, you 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


49 


have conquered. Without congratulating you par- 
ticularly on your powers as a debater, I nevertheless 
am bound to confess there is reason and sense in 
your argument. Behold ! I return this totally in- 
adequate fish to its native element, trusting that it 
will henceforth do its best to acquire size and flavor 
against my next visit. 

(The Trout is flung back into the stream . It 
floats , in two minds whether to live or die. Finally 
it determines to live. Good Angel flaps joyfully 
and vanishes / Bad Angel also disappears , using 
language that he may regret in a cooler moment , if 
he ever has one. Angler stands in statuesque posi- 
tion, tilts his hat over his eyes , and scratches the back 
of his head ) 

Tableau ! 

Up to the present time this is the most remark- 
able experience I have had on Dartmoor. I hardly 
know what to make of it. If there is to be a scene 
of this nature over every fish I catch, upon my soul 
I doubt if it is worth while going on. A few mo- 
ments later, however, my fears and disquietude van- 
ish in a new series of incidents — incidents tending 
to prove that I had done well to obey the Good 
Angel. 

I proceeded with my fishing, after getting the line 
clear and the flies dry and comfortable. I had not 
made above a dozen more casts or so when a sec- 
ond trout erred in its estimate of my “ blue upright, 5 ’ 
and as a result of this mistaken judgment found it- 

4 


50 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


self in new and strange surroundings. Long before 
I could put my band upon it in the now increasing 
darkness, I heard it gnashing its teeth, and tearing 
up the herbage, and striking the ground with repeat- 
ed blows of its sinewy tail. I grabbed this fish and 
got it into my creel, under a load of grass and net- 
tles, before there was any time for a supernatural 
manifestation. I went on fishing coolly and whist- 
ling, as though I had not just secured a splendid 
trout, and it all passed off quietly and there was 
nothing said. I measured the trout on returning to 
the lodgings, and I am scarcely exaggerating at all 
when I say that it was only just a shade short of 
four and a quarter inches long from nose to tail. 
Soon after this capture I met the Doctor, and we re- 
luctantly determined to postpone further sport until 
next morning. 

The Doctor’s adventures had scarcely been as re- 
markable as my own. To me, listening with every 
disposition to be friendly and interested, an under- 
current of prevarication seemed to be woven into 
them. It may have been because he was excited and 
did not pick his w r ords as carefully as usual; it may 
have been that his success had temporarily deranged 
him; but for some cause, hidden from me, my broth- 
er entered upon a narrative that, in the very pith of 
it, outraged all the laws of Nature. I may as well 
say at once that he had caught four trout — two con- 
siderably longer, from nose to tail, than mine; but 
it was in his description of a monstrous scene with a 
fifth that he appeared in such an unfavorable light. 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


51 


This alleged trout had got off the hook too soon. 
Instead, however, of falling back into the water as 
one would have expected it to do, the Doctor solemn- 
ly declared that it had descended into a strip of rank 
grass, and that he had hunted it like a rabbit for 
five-and-twenty yards. He said that it kept doub- 
ling on him and leaping through his fingers and ' 
jumping over his boots, and, in fact, going on as 
never a trout did yet before. In the end I was 
desired to believe that this fish turned a sort of 
double somersault into some blackberry bushes and 
was no more seen. 

Now, without a particle of ill-feeling towards the 
Doctor, I am bound to regard him as the unconscious 
mouth-piece of a falsehood. I will not accept this 
statement. He is going too fast and too far. These 
are the kind of experiences that men get who have 
fished for years — not beginners. At this rate, by 
the time he has been angling for a fortnight he 
must become hopelessly unreliable, and may carry a 
system of careless speaking back into his practice 
and so ruin himself. He ought to be checked im- 
mediately, and I am the man to do it. I tried a-deli- 
cate touch of sarcasm. I said : 

“Yes, the trout is undoubtedly a tricky fish. I 
lost a beauty just before meeting you. He escaped 
out of my creel and dodged me round a hay-stack, 
and then climbed up a tree.” 

The Doctor said : 

“Ah, you were rather a fool not to wait for 
it. The fish must have come down sooner or later. 


52 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


They cannot live beyond a certain time out of 
water.” 

We went back to supper, harboring just a shadow 
of mutual distrust and disgust, which it can only be 
hoped will not outlive the night. 

A crowd of yokels were smoking and talking on 
the bridge as we returned. They congregate here 
every evening after their day’s work is done. 

“ Any sport, maaster ?” one asked of me. 

“Not as good as I had hoped.” This in a tone 
implying I had proposed catching six dozen, but 
was returning with some few less. 

“Water be just right tu,” said the yokel. I did 
not much like his manner or his tone of voice. 

“There is nothing the matter with the water,” I 
answered ; “ but they are not rising — evidently 
thunder in the air.” 

This assertion about thunder quieted the man. 
He said : 

“Aye, very like, very like.” And I was proceed- 
ing to overtake the Doctor when a miserable boy 
took the matter up. 

“ Varmer Beal have catched a proper sight of fish 
down long,” he declared. 

Where on earth is the boasted courtesy and po- 
liteness of these people ? Was it good tact, was it del- 
icate, to mention farmer Beal’s success “down long ” 
at that moment? I turned upon the boy, and said: 

“ If your statement is a fact, Mr. Beal has met 
exceptional good-fortune. What did he catch them 
with ?” 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


53 


“ Rod’n line, same as you.” 

“ Of course, my lad ; I did not imagine he was 
shooting them with a fowling-piece. What fly did 
he use?” 

“ A wurm.” 

A worm ! Trout never rise to a worm. Why 
should they? The worm sinks to them. Anybody 
can catch fish with worms and gentles and paste 
and such things. 

I rejoined the Doctor, and after giving orders that 
our trout should be served up for breakfast next 
day, we supped well off a beefsteak and mushrooms 
with fruit tart and local cheese. 


54 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


CHAPTER IV. 

SLEEP — COCK - CROWING — UNPLEASANT INCIDENT WITH A 

LOOKING - GLASS — SUPERSTITION THE DOCTOR HAS A 

TRANCE — A GOLDEN MORNING — “ MAN-TRAPS SET HERE” 
— SPORT — THE LANDLADY’S CAT — DARTMOOR — A KEEPER 
OF MANY WORDS— CONCERNING MISS LUCY LYNN. 

My brother suggested, ere we retired for the 
night, that it would be a happy thing to get up at 
four next morning and have a try at the trout be- 
fore breakfast. I thought five would be a more 
likely hour, or even six. But he explained that the 
early dawn was a time second to none in these cases, 
so we decided that the man who should first w r ake 
after half-past four must rouse the other. In order 
to do this with certainty, some method of commu- 
nication between our respective apartments had to 
be thought upon. Such an arrangement proved 
easy, for, with a fishing-rod, we carried a string 
from my window to the Doctor’s. The earlier riser 
would pull this and awaken his sluggard relative. 

For myself, at four o’clock my senses returned to 
me. Nothing could, have been better managed. I 
had just handsome time to go to sleep again. But 
sleeping is one of those things that cannot be done 
for trying. I have struggled and toiled to go to sleep 
sometimes till I have completely worn myself out. 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


55 


And the advice that is given you in the matter is 
not any use at all. People say, “Think of noth- 
ing.” If you could do this, you might possibly gain 
the desired object, but I never met sane persons who 
could. If I try to think of nothing I think of every- 
thing, and have a perfect hurricane of ideas, and re- 
call my past life, and the good deeds I have done, 
and the other deeds, and end by getting into a 
perspiration and becoming awake to an extent im- 
possible to describe. There are, again, misguided 
persons who advise you to “Just shut your eyes 
and think of sheep jumping, one after the other, 
through a gap in a hedge.” Now, for a reasonably 
inventive being, this is almost death. I have tried 
it, and solemnly declare it to be so. First you have 
to imagine a hedge. There are thousands of differ- 
ent kinds of hedges. Assume an ordinary, earthen 
hedge, with trees upon it, and ferns, and grass, and 
so forth. Any sort of a gap will do ; then the 
sheep : say South Downs. Now they jump through 
the gap. Mine began well enough, but the tenth 
sheep slipped and fell; the eleventh caught his coat 
in a brier ; the twelfth went down the hedge, and 
the thirteenth tried to get over it. Then all the 
machinery of a dog and a shepherd became neces- 
sary ; and finally, I worked the thing into a consid- 
erable event, bristling with incident and adventure, 
full of local color and rustic dialect and touches of 
cynicism ; and I became perfectly “ played out,” and 
finally had a nightmare that I hate to think of even 
now. But to sleep upon the morning I mention 


56 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


was impossible. Nature would not permit me to 
do so for some time. A bantam began it; a Cochin 
China answered him ; something else chimed in on 
the third challenge ; and then another sort of cock 
took it up. The last was just beneath my window, 
and appeared to be laboring under some horrid 
bronchial disorder. I never heard such a mixture 
of asthma and bronchitis and defiance as he sent 
forth. None of the others answered him. They 
had not the heart to do so. It knocked all the 
spirit out of them, but roused mine. I sat up in 
bed and said aloud : 

“ This must not go on. I have come here for 
recreation and health and peace. These things are 
impossible within the radius of that crow.” 

I then sank back, waiting nervously for a repeti- 
tion ; but the bird had either made a swan’s end 
and expired in its own music, or else was employed 
upon some other matter. A pleasant revulsion of 
feeling ensued. Pigeons were cooing outside my 
window, but their mild matins beautifully soothed 
the senses, and I slept once more, not waking again 
until ten minutes to six. Then I hastened to my 
window, and pulled the cord of communication. 
There came no responsive pull. I tugged a second 
and third time with like result, and then gave a 
final jerk, upon which a terrible thing happened. 
The string slacked off and some heavy body fell 
into the garden beneath with a crash. My first 
fear was that the Doctor had tied the cord to him- 
self, and that I had now pulled him out of the win- 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


57 


dow in his sleep and so killed him. Uncertainty 
upon a question of such a sort was not to be sup- 
ported. I looked out and found that I had fetched 
a looking-glass out of the Doctor’s room, and it now 
lay below on a fern * rockery, reduced to a chaos 
of splintered glass and fractured wood. If it had 
been falling out of some remote planet for years it 
could not have broken itself more completely. 

There is very little superstition about me in a 
general way. I have sat down thirteen to dinner; 
I have spilled salt without flinging any over my left 
shoulder; I have brought the first bloom of a black- 
thorn into a house and never died; I have looked 
into a mirror after midnight and noticed nothing 
more weird than usual ; I have seen a single magpie 
and flung a stone at it, thereby bringing greater an- 
noyance to the bird than ever he brought to me — I 
have done much else of a kind to show my superi- 
ority to ignorant fable and vulgar belief ; but I have 
not broken a looking-glass before; and I regret it, 
because, though I deny that the act will bring me 
bad fortune for seven, fourteen, or twenty-one years 
— -the right duration I forget — yet there may be 
just enough in such an accident to ruin a fortnight’s 
rest and holiday. I argued it out while I was dress- 
ing. I proved that the mere circumstance of break- 
ing a looking-glass did not amount to much if you 
could prove that the fault was another’s. The fault 
in this case must be laid upon the Doctor. His in- 
describable idiocy in fastening the string to the 
glass and leaving his window wide open, was re- 


58 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


sponsible for all. By collateral argument I also 
implicated the owner of the glass, and finally con- 
vinced myself that such bad fortune as might en- 
sue must fall in equal proportions upon him and my 
brother, leaving me with only my usual every-day 
miseries. Still the Doctor slept. I went into the 
garden, and began pitching stones into his window 
and shouting. The stones became larger and larger; 
some must have struck him. “ This is not natural 
sleep,” I thought. “ Either a species of loathsome 
trance is upon him or he has died. If he is dead, 
there is an end of everything, of course ; if not, it 
may be possible to save him. In either case he will 
keep until breakfast-time.” 

So I went quietly off to fish a while. The morn- 
ing was very splendid. I crossed the stream where 
it ran by our orchard and meadow, and pushed for- 
ward through a wood , of oaks above and hazel be- 
low, full of little watercourses where grew great 
wealth of fern and moss. The sun glinted old red 
gold through a thousand tangles of shrub and sap- 
ling. A dew of sparkling diamonds flashed and 
shone upon everything; gossamer threads caught 
the blaze of light also, and every leaf and spray 
and twig stood clear cut in air purer than crystal. 
Of animal life the wood was full. Rabbits shook 
the dust off their paws at me and bolted, their little 
scuts bobbing, on every side. There were also mice 
about, and a squirrel. I alarmed a woodpecker — 
not tapping, but preparing to do so. I also alarmed 
a jay ; and then a pheasant alarmed me, for which 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


59 


inhospitable act I would have slain him, though it 
was August, if I had had anything to do it with. I 
prowled onward, a sense of peace growing strong 
within me. My heart warmed to the birds and the 
conies, and even the mice, and all the other dumb, 
happy things that lived here. I envied them their 
simple sort of life ; I even suspected, with sundry 
learned men, that consciousness is, after all, a horri- 
ble error on Nature’s part : that a blackbird proba- 
bly gets more all-round satisfaction out of its life 
than a man. Then it struck me that I was calmly in- 
dulging in an advanced conceit of pessimism, further 
than which it would be difficult to go. Banishing 
reflection, therefore, I just gloried in the superficial 
beauty of sight and sound investing this pleasant 
morn, and endeavored to develop a childlike spirit, 
which they tell me is the best for general purposes 
if your object be the acquiring of information. I 
began acquiring information very rapidly. A come- 
ly, ancient tree afforded some of the most startling 
nature. Upon its trunk were nailed boards convey- 
ing facts about man-traps, and implying that they, 
supported by spring-guns, were set at a venture in 
this identical wood. 

I knew that these dastardly engines had been abol- 
ished for years ; I was also aware that to plant any 
such thing nowadays would outrage the law; and 
yet, so great is the force of a proclamation, and so 
possible did it then appear to me that a man-trap or 
two might still be lurking about, that I got from 
the neighborhood, and exercised some caution in the 


60 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


doing of it. Man-traps knock the poetry out of a 
forest as quickly, perhaps, as anything. This inci- 
dent somehow roused my sporting instincts, which 
till the present had slumbered. I recollected that I 
was here to kill fish, not pry and potter about in 
somebody else’s game preserves. So I hastened to 
the river, which was at hand, and set to work. Soon 
afterwards I noticed another rod flashing down 
stream, and beheld, to my amazement, the Doctor 
intent on angling, and apparently doing so to per- 
fection. 

If he has had a trance, it is clear the fit must 
have passed off; on the other hand, if he is really 
dead, which was the alternative, this would appear 
to be his spectre. In that case his spectre has just 
caught a fish, which I must see, though the vision 
blast me for my temerity. I hastened forward, and 
was in at the death. The Doctor said : 

“ Good -morning, old chap. Need not ask you 
how you slept. I didn’t wake before five myself, 
then I got up and pulled the cord and hammered 
the wall, and went on agitating until a baby began 
to cry somewhere. I gave it up after that, and 
came out alone. Any sport?” 

“ One looking-glass,” I said, and then went on to 
explain what a thing had been done that morning, 
and how entirely he was to blame. He did not show 
much emotion about the affair, but I fancy he felt 
it more than he led me to suppose. He said that in 
future we had better each go our own sweet way, 
and have no tomfoolery about signals and alarms 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


61 


and communications. He then changed the subject, 
and announced that he had caught three trout, all 
exactly the same size, with a very nice little gray, 
yellow-bodied fly that his landlord at the inn had 
made him a present of on the preceding night. I 
can see that this landlord is giving the Doctor a 
very unfair advantage over me. These small publi- 
cans are sportsmen to the backbone, and full of 
most valuable information about trout-fishing. My 
landlord is a past-master in the art of shunting rail- 
way-trucks, but does not know a trout from a tur- 
bot. I pointed this out, and the Doctor allowed the 
cogency of it, and promised that in future any wrin- 
kles likely to prove useful should be shared freely 
and frankly with me from the first. I, on my part, 
undertook to write that very day to London for a 
supply of these gray- and -yellow flies, of which I 
made no question that my friend at the shop pos- 
sessed good store. 

We fished together in a brotherly, peaceable way 
for half an hour or so, and I caught a really consid- 
erable trout that wanted most careful management 
and a landing-net. The Doctor said there was no 
necessity for a landing-net. He declared that if he 
had hooked the fish he should not have dreamed of 
standing there fussing over it for five minutes, but 
just lifted it out and had done with it. This is, I 
am afraid, a little bit of jealousy. I may be wrong, 
but I think so. My own opinion is that if he had 
in reality captured such a trout as this, he would 
have lost his nerve altogether, and very possibly 


62 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


failed to land it and got tangled up in the scenery, 
and jumped into the water himself, and shown none 
of my coolness and experience. 

The hour then being eight we prepared to return, 
for it was our intention to travel afield after break- 
fast to a stream much praised by the guide-book, 
and distant about five miles. 

The wasps had already begun our morning meal. 
It is odd that I have made no mention of them be- 
fore. They afford me infinite uneasiness at all 
hours, but especially when we eat. The wasps here 
are both savage and short-tempered. I was killing 
one with a fork, and it got loose and flew up and 
stung me on the nose, and then buzzed off out of 
the window as if it had done something clever. 
Probably it spread a gasconading report among its 
friends as to how I had attacked it and struck it 
down, and how it had risen to the occasion, and 
stung me and left me for dead on the field. The 
Doctor says that if you only keep quiet and don’t 
worry them they will do no harm. That is the pol- 
icy usually adopted with ill-tempered people. But 
it must be a mistake, because if everybody gives 
way before them they never get opportunities for 
self-control, which is just what they want to make 
men of them. I regard it as kinder to have differ- 
ences with these touchy folks from time to time. 
With wasps, in the same way, it is a mistake to be 
yielding. They don’t appreciate it or admire you 
for it. The safest plan is to kill them when they 
are sitting; but make sure of them, because they 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


63 


are tlie most revengeful things in nature, and never 
forgive. My brother, generally a firm man, is weak 
to childishness about wasps. He permits them to 
walk round his plate and watch him dine or take 
breakfast. Some of these mornings he will eat one 
by mistake ; and it is much worse to be stung inside 
by a wasp than outside. 

When our trout came to be uncovered at break- 
fast, the Doctor and I exchanged glances of ill-con- 
cealed dismay. There were but four on the dish, and 
we had caught five. We counted them over care- 
fully ; there was not a doubt about it. The landlady 
herself waited upon us. She made no excuse, but 
admitted a fish was missing, and added that it had 
been a better and finer one than these. She declared 
her cat selected it for private consumption while they 
were being prepared for table. 

The Doctor said : 

“Let the cat be sent for.” 

The landlady went out and caught the cat, and 
left it with us to explain as best it might. I had at 
first feared that Mrs. Yallack invented the story 
about her cat to screen somebody of more impor- 
tance ; but one glance at the animal convinced me 
he had not been belied. He was a shabby tom, with 
yellow eyes and no tail worthy of the name. To see 
this hardened rascal pretending to be shy and inno- 
cent and guileless was disgusting. He did not at- 
tempt any explanation, but crept beneath a sofa and 
kept peeping out in a kitten-like fashion. Then the 
Doctor went under the sofa after him, and brought 


64 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


him forward by the neck, and sat him down on a 
chair, and lectured him. 

Soon the cat came out in his true colors, and put 
on an old offender, don’t-care*a-straw, do-it-again-to- 
morrow sort of expression. 

“ Are you ashamed of yourself, or are you not ?” 
began the Doctor. 

The cat scratched his ear, and made no answer. 

“ Do you know what will be the end of you if you 
take other people’s trout ?” 

The cat looked bored, and smothered a yawn. 

“You are an English cat. Do not pretend you 
don’t understand me.” 

The cat put up his nose, and sniffed the sweet odor 
of cooked trout. 

“ Ah, you prefer them cooked, do you ?” 

The cat began to assume the most fulsome ad- 
miration for my brother. He got down off his 
chair, and flung himself at the Doctor’s feet, and 
purred and gazed up with eyes full of humble re- 
gard. 

“ There are but four trout, thanks to you ; and 
these have been already eaten. You have nobody 
but yourself to blame.” 

The cat implied that tails or bones or anything 
were good enough for him, and became so entirely 
amenable that he got what he wanted, and had it all 
his own way. He then washed his face and prepared 
to leave us. 

“We sup at nine,” said the Doctor. 

The cat turned round and nodded, and went off. 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


65 


Our five-mile walk to the regular business of the day 
was then undertaken. 

Dartmoor can show a variety of scene unequalled. 
There are hills capped with ragged tors and strewn 
from base to crown with bowlders great and small ; 
there are other hills, round and brown and destitute 
of stone or tree to break their monotony. These lat- 
ter appear of heavy peat soil, whereon grow grasses 
and bog heath and little else, while the former are 
granite at heart, but much more beautiful to look 
upon. Around their towering sides a battle-royal 
rages between Man’s ploughshare and pruning-hook 
and Nature’s barbaric wealth of brake -fern and 
bramble, stunted oak and thorn, silver -birch and 
mountain-ash, with iron granite in the van beneath 
its coat of ivy. Arable land, from a Devon farmer’s 
point of view, is of a character to make other agri- 
culturists wonder much. Where the great bowlders 
can be removed, they are ; where such a course is im- 
possible, the plough goes round them, and the high- 
lying fields are oftentimes liberally dotted with 
blocks of stone. In the valleys every lane and tan- 
gled hedge-row is bursting with ruddy wealth of rich 
earth that seems the very heart’s blood of Nature ; 
above, on the moors, the roads are often of small 
flint — white and shining. They are fringed with 
pink heather and grouse heather and golden furze; 
which roads and their surroundings, to catch against 
a background of blue sky, forms a glorious vision of 
color. ’Tis a great, free, lonely world, that in sun- 
light or moonlight, gray mist or flying breeze, winter 
6 


66 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


or summer, must ever be a dear sight for eyes that 
love Nature unadorned. In our ears tinkle the notes 
of a sheep-bell, jangling wild music as the flock fol- 
lows the bell-wether across a mountain-side ; in our 
eyes is reflected a God-painted panorama of wooded 
valleys, with granite and heather-clad heights above 
them and purple hills beyond. To the right and to 
the left silver rivers are gleaming and winding their 
courses through meadow-land and forest. There are 
also to be seen, far below, white-walled homesteads 
in sheltered nooks, with pasture, fallow, orchard, and 
.fields of waving corn ripe for the harvest. The 
western wind was fresh, and cast shadows from a 
flying cloudland across dell and fell and rainbow 
moor, thus affording much noble play of light and 
shade to make all things perfect. 

The Doctor said that if operations could be per- 
formed in this atmosphere, the mortality of them 
would be greatly lessened. He discussed health and 
antiseptics generally, and I was about to blame him 
for thus dragging his profession in by the heels, as 
it were, when it struck me that his practical view of 
this sublime place was in reality more to be admired 
than my vague admiration. He humanely regretted 
that the natural possibilities of the moorland could 
not be utilized for the welfare of sick and suffering ; 
I had sucked in the pure life-giving air and enjoyed 
it, and never thought how many thousand pairs of 
lungs wanted it more than mine. 

As we neared our stream and passed a lonely cot 
in a hollow, we heard wailings and lamentations, and 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


G7 


came across three women in a condition of great dis- 
tress. Their menkind had gone away to work and 
left them forlorn. We inquired the nature of their 
trouble and learned with difficulty, for they were 
nearly incoherent in their grief, that the matter was 
all about a little ass. This animal had jammed his 
head between a stone gate-post and a wall ; and they 
feared that he would die before rescue came. The 
ass seemed to be in a bad state. He had been kick- 
ing to free himself, thereby becoming more firmly 
wedged than ever. He was quite exhausted and in 
a condition of complete collapse. I thought he must 
be passing away, but the Doctor felt more cheerful 
about him, and set to work to pull the wall down. 
We labored zealously, and the women blessed us, 
and dried their eyes when my brother declared no 
harm had been done. They said that the ass pos- 
sessed most exceptional qualities, and was greatly 
loved by all who knew him. Finally, we freed the 
beast, whereat he plucked up spirit, drank half a pail 
of water, and showed gratitude. 

Save that we began to handle our rods with in- 
creased skill, this day was singularly uneventful. 
We captured in all some three dozen fish of varying 
sizes, and, towards evening, met a most communica- 
tive keeper, who apparently enjoyed so few oppor- 
tunities of exchanging ideas with his fellow-men 
that he almost refused to leave us. He talked of 
his duties while he was thus neglecting them ; he 
said that he had entire control of about thirty or 
forty miles of river ; and that he and one other man 


C8 


FOLLY AND FEESH AIE. 


were practically the only water-keepers on Dartmoor. 
He told tremendous anecdotes of poachers, and ex- 
plained that the scar which so adorned his brown 
cheek was given in an affray with these. He then 
went into the question of otters and otter-hounds, 
and hunting generally. He touched on the weather, 
in connection with which he mentioned some strange 
facts about floods. He then treated of the crops. 
He never fished himself, because he had no time. 
His business, he said, was always to be moving. He 
generally walked above thirty miles a day. He ex- 
plained that the curious scar on his face had been 
produced by a flash of lightning, and described the 
storm in which that particular flash occurred at great 
length. He wished we had come a week earlier, be- 
cause then the fishing was at its best, and some very 
good peel had been taken by a gentleman called 
General Lynn. His admiration for General Lynn 
lasted nearly a quarter of an hour. The Doctor gave 
him a cigar, which he put away in the lining of his 
hat. He explained that he never smoked while at 
work, but if we had a sandwich to spare — why, he did 
not mind just a nibble to keep his jaws from rusting 
out. He said his wife was a source of great pleas- 
ure to him, being as God-fearing and sober a woman 
as we should find on Dartmoor or Exmoor either. 
His children were numerous, and also satisfactory. 
The Conservators were thinking about raising his 
salary, but they had been thinking of this for three 
years, and he doubted if they would really do so for 
another three. Might he just enter our names, and 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


69 


the number of our licenses in his little book ? Now 
he should not have to trouble us again. He saw we 
were looking at the scar on his face. “ Terrible bad 
business” that had been. A horse ran away with 
a new mechanical mowing-machine, and he had 
stopped it, and the mechanical mower nearly cut his 
head off. All in the day’s work. He was a bit of 
a gardener himself in his leisure moments. A good 
few vegetables he grew — not broccoli, because broc- 
coli took too much watching — but big cabbages that 
weighed three pounds apiece. He doubted if we 
should catch many more fish to-day : the setting sun 
looked to be angry. When the sun was drawing 
water of an afternoon, that was as good a time as any. 
He would have brought his new gun out to show us 
if he had known we took any interest in such things ; 
but, maybe, he should meet us again. Then he re- 
turned to the scar, and entangled himself in his 
speech, and lastly got over a fence into a wood, say- 
ing that it would be raining fit to drown us in half 
an hour’s time, and that he had still a trifle over 
ten miles to go before his round should be com- 
pleted. 

He was perfectly right about the rain. We had 
the dampest walk I ever remember to get home, and 
in our long white mackintoshes were mistaken, while 
traversing a field, for two ghostly apparitions, by a 
group of grown men who should have known much 
better. 

The following fragment of conversation between 
the Doctor and myself, as we ploughed our way back 


70 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


to Tavybridge, may be given with an added explan- 
atory word or two. 

“I wonder if that General Lynn is any relation?” 

My brother asked the question, and I answered it. 

“More than likely.” 

Now this mysterious dialogue refers to a discovery 
made by the Doctor. He has observed sundry ad- 
vertisements upon barn-doors and in shop-windows 
at Tavybridge, proclaiming the fact that an enter- 
tainment is to be given at the local school-room in a 
few days’ time. The lady responsible for the man- 
agement and organization of this concern is one Miss 
Lucy Lynn ; and, since he read her name in print, 
the Doctor has declared it to be the prettiest com- 
bination of words he ever met. She may be elderly, 
though it does not sound an elderly name ; she may 
be plain, though the Doctor doubts it very much ; 
she may be engaged, which is far more probable than 
the former suggestions ; but whatever her age, natu- 
ral advantages, or private arrangements for a future 
of happiness, the Doctor has determined to get a 
sight of her at the pending performance. And as 
General Lynn, the doughty slayer of peel, may also 
be present, I promise to accompany my brother, for 
a sight of this great sportsman would do me a world 
of good. 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


71 


CHAPTER V. 

BELLS— TIIE RIVAL HONEY GROWERS — A REMARKABLE BAR- 
BER — MARTYRS — THE LANDLADY’S HOBBY — IGNORANCE OF 
THE LOCAL MEDICAL MAN — IT IS SHARED BY ME — A SLEEPY 
SYMPOSIUM — PHOTOGRAPHY — CONTEMPLATED BOOK FOR 
YOUNG ANGLERS — PECULIAR INTELLIGENCE OF CATTLE— A 
MISUNDERSTANDING BETWEEN THE DOCTOR AND THE SUN. 

“When it pays better to talk than listen, change 
your company.” 

I took the liberty of saying this to the Doctor at 
breakfast next clay. The reason for such a rebuke 
appeared in a statement of his. Overnight, before 
going to rest, he had visited the bar-parlor next door, 
and partaken of some sort of refreshment. While 
doing so, he explained to me that he talked at great 
length with many of the most ancient and represent- 
ative inhabitants of Tavybridge ; and he concluded 
by saying that, so taciturn were they, it was neces- 
sary for him to do all the conversation. Upon 
which I reproved him as aforesaid. 

The great evening pastime here is bell - ringing. 
Every hostlery of any importance possesses an oc- 
tave of hand-bells, and the different houses match 
their champions, while experts listen and judge; which 
competitions must be both interesting and beautiful 
— if you like bells. Four great champions came to 


72 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


play to us one evening while we supped. Each held 
two bells. They rang “ touches ” and “ flourishes,” 
and must have been getting on to a right peal of 
“ grandsire triples,” if such a thing is possible on 
hand-bells, before they stopped. Their music was 
soft and sweet, and sounded like chimes from a far 
distant steeple. 

This morning, being a red - hot August one, we 
loitered about and investigated Tavybridge, and put 
off any further slaying of trout till sunset. 

The Post-office is very interesting here. They 
sell stamps and post -cards, and other things one 
would expect to buy, but the principal industry of 
the place is honey. 

I had a lengthy conversation with the Post- 
mistress, who told me that her husband spent con- 
siderably more time among his bees than was, strict- 
ly speaking, right or proper. 

“ However, ’tis wonderful fine honey, sure enough,” 
she said. “ There’s none like it in these parts : 
white clover honey, clear as amber, all in the comb, 
and only a shillin’ a pound.” 

She showed me some in neat little cases, and I 
bought largely, proposing to take home great quan- 
tities of it. 

“If you go over the way,” she said, pointing to 
the pocket Whiteley’s, “they’ll give you a handy 
soap-box you can pack it in.” 

I observed a malicious twinkle in her eye as she 
made this remark, but did not realize until some few 
moments later to what it alluded. 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


73 


At the General Dealer’s establishment I inquired 
for a neat box to pack honey in. An ancient and 
withered dame, “ with a face like a rebec,” attended 
on me. 

“ Oh ! you ’ ave corned to the place for ’oney,” she 
began. “ My son, what’s in a consumption of ’is 
lungs, God rest ’im, grows the finest and purest 
’oney in Devon. If you’re minded to see the silver 
medals ’e’ve took, you can. Yes, you ’ave corned to 
the right place for ’oney, sir.” 

“ The question is : have I come to the right place 
for a soap-box?” I said. “ My honey has already 
been purchased at the Post-office.” 

The old woman was bitterly disappointed. It 
appeared I had been deceived at the rival establish- 
ment. 

“ They certainly led me to understand that white 
clover Post-office honey was the best,” I explained. 

In answer, she spoke very disrespectfully of the 
Post - office honey, implying that it was poisonous 
and quite unfit for human food. This is worse than 
those bees of Trebizond, which, from a certain rho- 
dodendron, manufacture honey that sends the eater 
of it mad. I grow reasonably alarmed, and have 
evidently chanced upon a great and bitter feud be- 
tween two equally important honey growers. I 
suspect the very rival bees, when they meet, dis- 
parage one another’s efforts, and sneer and keep up 
a party spirit. In common fairness I was bound to 
buy more honey here, and while doing so told the 
vender that I should eat of both brands and con- 


74 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


elude justly between them. She urged me not to 
go and fling my life away experimenting on white 
clover honey. Her son’s bees had received a proper 
education, and manufactured their luscious wares 
from nothing but prime lavender or sweet wild 
thyme. I promised to make my investigations sci- 
entifically, and mentioned that a medical man was 
of my party, a learned being who would doubtless 
be able to analyze the respective honeys, and thor- 
oughly gauge their properties. But come what 
might, the soap-boxes appeared to be quite perfect 
of their kind. 

My next experience was at the village barber’s 
shop. This man I regarded as quite thrown away in 
Tavybridge. He had all the audacity and assertive- 
ness of London hair-cutters. I was an infant in his 
hands. He thrust his cloth between my throat and 
collar, then chose a pair of scissors, began snick, 
snick, snicking about in the air with them, and 
made rough general calculations of my head with a 
comb. He gave a sort of lecture as he went along, 
the subject being heads of hair, my own in particu- 
lar. He was good enough to think mine rather an 
interesting head. 

He remarked: 

“ You never put grease on, I can see as much at a 
glance.” 

I answered that I never did, believing, from his 
manner, that he would commend me for such self- 
denial. But, on the contrary, he declared that I was 
wrong not to do so. What my hair needed was tone. 


FOLLY AND FRESII AIR. 


75 


I had sufficient hair, but it lacked all tone. He 
stopped cutting to assure me that nothing was so 
bad as cold water applied to hair. It produced 
baldness, and if I persisted in using water, my hair 
was just the kind to wither away and drop out by 
the roots. He inquired my age, and, on learning 
it, solemnly prophesied that at thirty, or sooner, I 
should be as bald as a phrenologist’s bust. 

I said : 

“ I want my hair cut, not criticised.” 

This checked him, but he burst out again almost 
immediately : 

“Here’s a very weak spot over the ear,” he an- 
nounced ; “ a very weak spot indeed. You must 
be singed.” 

I refused. I said : 

“Not this morning : I am busy. Another day I 
will drop in and you shall singe me, and shave me, 
and curl me, and shampoo me, and make experi- 
ments, and do just whatever you please with me. 
But not now.” 

He insisted. He declared that singeing was his 
strong point. It would take rather less than no 
time. The masterful creature lighted a taper and 
had already singed my ear before I could protest. 
It was a trying experience. I doubt if he had ever 
singed anybody in his life before. I felt to be 
cooking. I could hear myself frizzling and getting 
brown. The executioner seemed a sort of cannibal 
chef \ putting final touches to a centre-piece. He 
would probably place a lemon in my mouth pres- 


76 


FOLLY AND FEESH AIE. 


ently, and arrange bay or laurel leaves round me. 
I never before realized what martyrs at the stake 
must have had to put up with. I should not have 
done the smallest practical good in this direction; 
and I doubt if, among all my friends and acquaint- 
ances, there is one who would make a passable 
martyr. Men deteriorate fast along certain lines. 
Does Faith make fools and Reason make cowards ? 
Or is there a half truth only in that suggestion? 
Has the quality which went to produce martyrs van- 
ished before the spread of education ? Or is it that 
a supply has only ceased with the demand? 

I answer “Yes” emphatically to the last question. 
The Cause is everything. Let men be satisfied of 
the Cause; let them march under a banner that 
symbolizes Right ; and name the banner Religion, 
Science, Ethics, what you will, there shall still be 
found martyrs in the land, there shall still be found 
noble hearts with noble music in them, though the 
changes and chances of life may never require that 
the music need be uttered. 

The barber charged London prices — to me. He 
said that if my head was in his hands for a month 
or two, I should hardly know it ; he w T ould improve 
it so wonderfully. I told him that I had been try- 
ing to improve it myself for years. 

He answered : 

“Yes, the inside, sir; but it is the outside of a 
head a man is most often judged by.” 

I hope this is not the case. If so, hair-dressers 
must be allowed a much more important position in 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


77 


the social and philosophical order of things than is, 
I fancy, granted to them. 

Justice has not yet been done to Mrs. Vallack, 
our landlady ; and as this promises to be a some- 
what desultory chapter, the calm, in fact, before 
a storm, I may here make mention of her as she 
deserves. Her tastes lie in the direction of the pro- 
found, and her favorite subject is the end of the 
world. She knows more about this than anybody I 
ever met, and talks most interestingly concerning it. 
Where she got so much information I am at a loss 
to understand. I asked her, and she replied that 
every day had its own signs and wonders, if persons 
kept their eyes open and judged rightly of what 
they saw. For her own part, she explained, she 
had always been religious and came from a most re- 
ligious stock. She added that the subject of the 
final climax was a most simple one ; all a body 
had to do was to put two and two together in a 
prayerful spirit. But, surely, two and two put to- 
gether — no matter if the spirit be prayerful or pro- 
fane — can only make four, not the end of the world? 
She had fixed the date and the hour, but would not 
divulge them to me. Her husband knows, however ; 
I may be able to get it out of him. She told me 
that she had been mercifully permitted to learn 
these facts, but could not make them public. I 
shall watch her, because, if the end of the world 
comes while we are here, she is certain to be a little 
fidgety and distrait the morning before. If I notice 
anything of the kind in her, I shall make a will and 


78 


FOLLY AND FEESH AIE. 


put my affairs in order, and get tlie Doctor into a 
decent frame of mind, too — if I can. 

He had come in to lunch before I got back, and 
appeared considerably exercised about something. 
It proved to be a professional question. During 
his morning walk he chanced upon a child in a state 
of illness, and he now told me that there was very 
little doubt the local practitioner was killing it. 
The Doctor said : 

“He is treating it for a-myo-trophic lateral scle- 
rosis.” 

I said : 

“ Monstrous ! As if any young child could get 
such a big disease as that. Why, it would be all 
an adult could do to survive it. Can you not go 
to the local man and creep into his affections and 
gradually become so friendly that you might tell 
him, if even in a parable, what a fool he is making 
of himself ?” 

The Doctor replied that professional etiquette 
rendered it impossible for him to say a word even in 
a parable, though the result of his silence might be 
death to the child. 

I asked : 

“ What is the unhappy infant suffering from in 
your opinion?” 

The Doctor answered : 

“ Acute anterior polio-myelitis.” 

I said : 

“ Poor, poor babe. Better it should die than lin- 
ger on dragging an ailment of that kind about. It 


FOLLY AND FRESII AIR. 


79 


is the saddest case I have ever heard of. Can it be 
that you are both mistaken, you doctors ? Perhaps, 
after all, the hapless infant has only been eating 
too many blackberries or some juvenile indiscretion 
of that sort. If you should be right in your sus- 
picion, however, is it infectious? I came down here 
to catch trout, not polio - myelitis ; and though I 
should doubtless suffer with fortitude, did the worst 
come to the worst, yet I do not like the sound of it ; 
and, candidly, if there is much of it about, I think 
the sooner we are off the better for us.” 

The Doctor told me not to alarm myself ; I was 
perfectly safe. He added that my remarks showed 
great ignorance, and that it was marvellous how 
little the public knew of his profession. To which 
I retorted by giving him this story : 

An old man was at the point of death. His great 
wealth enabled him to employ six medical men, and 
they were forever meeting and wrangling, and ad- 
vancing their individual theories. Somebody sym- 
pathized with the sufferer, but he answered : “ Let 
them talk ; it keeps them away from me. If they 
arrive at any conclusion, call in somebody else at 
once.” Time went on, nothing was done, so Nature 
had a free hand and got the old fellow round. That 
is how it came to be admitted that, in serious cases, 
it is better to have two medical men than one. 

Having done with lunch, we wandered by the 
brook, and sat us down on mossy islands of stone, 
under a golden -green rustling canopy of oak foli- 
age, full of sunlight. Here we smoked, and ate the 


80 


FOLLY AND FKESH AID. 


lotus, and indulged in a sort of sleepy symposium, 
one firing off a question, and the other answering 
it. But the interchange of ideas became more and 
more irregular until it ceased. There was a calm 
for some moments ; then I heard a fall and a splash, 
and awoke and found that I had dropped into the 
stream, which discovery astounded me to such a 
degree that I should probably have drowned, though 
the water was scarce a foot deep, had not the Doc- 
tor, from the security of his rock, directed me how 
to act. 

We spent fully three hours in this pleasant spot, 
discussing all the important questions of the day, 
and many unimportant matters also. 

My brother said : 

“ Talking of observation, you know how young 
children, when intellect dawns with them, begin to 
‘take notice.’ You know how they poke holes in 
things, and eat any concern capable of being eaten ; 
how puzzled ghosts of smiles flit over their inane 
little faces ; how laughter at length has a part of 
their waking hours — sharing the same with tears 
and suction. Now, why is it that nine human be- 
ings out of ten stop this business of taking notice 
too soon?” 

“Nobody really stops; it is impossible,” I de- 
clared. 

“ They do, though,” went on the Doctor. “ Peo- 
ple get a certain amount of experience and knowl- 
edge, and there they stick. They won’t be hospita- 
ble to new ideas that come modestly knocking, but 


FOLLY AND FRESII AIR. 


81 


either tell them they have no spare room, or in- 
vite them to call again, when they may not be so 
busy.” 

I replied : 

“You see it is dangerous hospitality sometimes, 
this harboring of novel ideas. One hears of such 
horrible atrocities, that timid folks get frightened 
of trusting a mysterious stranger in their brain- 
pans. Suppose, for instance, you take in a civil- 
spoken, innocent - lo.oking notion, introduce him to 
all your own pet, highly-domesticated ideas, and tell 
them to love one another, and run about and play 
together and be good. This was w T hat Jones did. 
Mark the sequel. He turned his back for a mo- 
ment, and the new-comer got foothold, and grew, 
and made himself at home. Then, like the Red 
Indian he was at heart, that fresh idea fell tooth- 
and-nail upon the tame, happy family into which he 
had been introduced. He screamed and danced a 
war-dance, and scalped and murdered on every side. 
Next time Jones had occasion to employ a certain 
well-worn old sentiment, that had often served him 
nobly in the past, he called it by name, but received 
no answer. He hunted through his mental machin- 
ery for it, and at length came upon a scene of be- 
wildering carnage and horror. There lay his dear 
old conviction, together with twenty others, dead 
and stiff, and weltering in gore.” 

The Doctor said : . 

“A pity we don’t see more of that sort of thing. 
People w T ho change their minds from time to time 


82 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


at any rate get brain circulation and intellectual 
breadth.” 

I answered : 

“Many men have to choose between living an ab- 
stract life, full of philosophy and books, and a con- 
crete one, full of a wife and family and bills. Some 
few there are who can beautifully blend these vary- 
ing interests, but the average toiler on this earth, 
who has to devote the bulk of his life to keep- 
ing food within him and a roof above, must not be 
blamed for filling his scanty hours of leisure as he 
pleases. One man loves books and study and prog- 
ress, and all that modern thought can teach him. 
He burns midnight oil, and crams himself with 
ideas, and so finds life worth living. Another loves 
muffins in the fender, and a child to welcome him, 
and a woman to worship him when the day’s work 
is done. Home is the watchword that makes life 
worth living to him; he too, perhaps, burns mid- 
night oil, and crams — not himself with ideas — but 
the baby out of a pap -boat. Both these men are 
right, both are learning and getting the knowledge 
they want. A long family teaches a man more than 
most books will ; and every station in life must 
breed its own atmosphere of ideas.” 

“You don’t pretend to assert that people keep 
their eyes as wide open as they ought to, I sup- 
pose ?” inquired the Doctor. 

“ Probably not, as a rule,” I said ; “ though the 
man who knows when to shut his eyes is rarer than 
the man who knows when to open them. Much 


FOLLY AND FRESII AIR. 


83 


might be written on the great art of shutting eyes. 
You are, of course, right in saying that adults often 
fail to use their senses and observation, that they 
either bustle or loiter through life, seeing but not 
perceiving, hearing but not learning. There is a 
good story apposite to this point — ” and I told the 
Doctor what follows, which you may or may not 
have read before : 

“ A school - teacher was hammering the alphabet 
into a boy’s head without much success. ‘ That’s 
A,’ said she. ‘ That’s A,’ he echoed, his mind on 
more important matters. ‘ That’s B,’ she continued. 
‘ That’s B,’ he admitted, regarding a fly upon the 
window. ‘That’s C.’ ‘ Yes ; that’s C.’ He did not 
question the fact, being occupied in some engineer- 
ing feats connected with an ink canal. Thus was 
the youth dragged through his letters until W ar- 
rived, and the procession had nearly ended. Here, 
for some obscure reason never to be known, the 
scholar woke up and began to take a gratifying and 
unparalleled interest in his task. ‘ That’s W,’ said 
the school - mistress, her own thoughts far enough 
away by this time. ‘Bless me! Is it, teacher? 
That W ? Whoever would have thought it?’ And 
the infant gazed, round-eyed, as upon a revelation. 

“Now, there is a text easy to preach on, if you 
have a mind to do so,” I said to the Doctor. 

“ Easy enough,” he answered. “ Too many of us 
follow your lively boy. We overlook the amazing 
A, the beautiful B, the chivalrous C, and all the 
other marvels of that alphabet which school-mistress 


84 


FOLLY AND FKESH AIK. 


Life tries to teach us, until ve presently reach W. 
Thereupon, rushing madly for spectacles and eye- 
glasses, we exclaim, ‘ Good heavens ; how remark- 
able ! How exceedingly strange and instructive. 
That W ? Whoever would have thought of such a 
thing? Well, we do live in a strange world, and no 
mistake.’ We possibly add, in our excitement, 
something about keeping a sharp lookout for X, Y, 
and Z ; but how much has been missed, and it may 
be too late to go back again.” 

Then we went in-doors to get a cup of tea, and 
found that a communication had arrived from Lon- 
don for me, full of gray -winged, yellow -bodied 
flies. The light being clear and the sky bright, my 
brother proposed trying some evening photographic 
effects while I fished. His powers in the direction 
of lens and camera have not as yet been mentioned, 
but they are great and varied. In addition to the 
ordinary apparatus, which, when the Doctor is holi- 
day-making, always seems to follow him about like 
a huge tame grasshopper on three legs, he also pos- 
sesses instantaneous processes, the secret of which it 
was long before I discovered. Chance at last put 
the key of the mystery into my hand. These light- 
ning pictures are taken in a “Detective Camera.” 
This is a sort of tin chest-protector, wprn under the 
waistcoat and controlled by an arrangement that fits 
into some pocket. The lens peeps out through a 
button-hole, and does all its own focussing and so on. 
You may photograph a man to his face with this, 
and he will never know what is going on. Some- 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


85 


times the shutter makes a snap like a mouse - trap 
when the string is pulled. If this happens, and peo- 
ple notice it and look suspiciously at the Doctor’s 
watch-chain, he passes it off quickly by telling them 
that he has got heart-disease. In this strange ma- 
chine he has already photographed many of the most 
picturesque inhabitants of Tavybridge ; he has also 
made a series of pictures of me, angling. If these 
latter come out well, I shall probably use them to 
illustrate a little work, for novices, on the science of 
fly-fishing, which I propose to begin shortly. Pict- 
ures and diagrams often explain a thing better than 
pages of print. They who read this brochure will 
see at a glance how to throw a fly, how to stand, 
how to strike, how to land a fish, how to play one, 
how to lose one with good grace ; and I may give a 
chapter about things to avoid doing, for there is a 
good style and a bad in fly-fishing, as in every other 
sport. Some of his pictures, if what the Doctor tells 
me is true, I shall not reproduce. No man can fish 
all day without occasionally finding himself in diffi- 
culties and misery. Flies will catch many matters 
besides trout. They will even turn upon their owner 
and catch him. They like to investigate the tops of 
trees, always on the farther bank. Again, there is 
nothing to prevent a sportsman from sitting down 
to lunch on an ants’ nest. This I have done, and 
ants take an action of that sort badly. In my case 
they mustered their legions to destroy me ; and I 
was engaged in a hand-to-hand fight with a squad- 
ron or so of them, which had got under everything 


86 


FOLLY AND FEESH AIR. 


I was wearing at the time, when my brother thought 
proper to photograph the scene. A picture of that 
sort would only discourage young fishermen, and 
probably ruin my book financially. A sporting work 
should concern itself with the pleasures and keen tri- 
umphs and mighty possibilities of its subject, for 
these may be missed altogether by the tyro, whereas 
the reverse of the picture is sure to fall to his lot 
sooner or later ; and a man does not want a book to 
tell him when he is in the deuce-and-all of a fix — his 
own instinct acquaints him with the fact in a mo- 
ment. As to escaping from positions of trial and 
tribulation, there, again, it is idle to lay down hard 
and fast rules and regulations. No two men act 
quite similarly in a dangerous or critical situation. 
Luck often sides with pluck in a crisis, and I have 
before now seen a man keeping his nerve and doing 
the right thing, and being cautious, and making an 
awful mess of an affair, while another has “ chanced 
it,” and gone in headlong and come out victorious, 
simply because that jade Fortune chose to favor him. 

To return to my book, I might, of course, give a 
table of probable mishaps and casualties, with a few 
acute hints for plans of action, thus : 

1. How to act if your fly gets hopelessly foul of a 
bramble-bush hanging over deep water: Fling stones 
at it. If there are no stones to be got, you must 
pull, and hope for the best. 

2. How to demean yourself under attacks of wasps 
or cattle : In the first case, remember that the loath- 
some wasps want your lunch, not you ; share it with 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


87 


them at once, therefore. If you have lunched already 
open your creel or bag in order that they may see 
you have done so. In the event of unruly cattle, 
don’t stop to argue, for they have no logic, but get 
across to the other side of the river as quickly as 
possible. If you are not beforehand with them, it 
is ten to one that they will help you across. The 
judicious Hooker remarks: “It sometimes cometh to 
pass that the readiest way which a wise man hath to 
conquer is to fly.” This holds undoubtedly here. 

3. On the utter and hopeless losing of your way 
towards nightfall: Follow the stream in which you 
have been fishing. If necessary, follow it until it flows 
into the sea. Should no human habitation appear to 
reward your efforts, once on the shore, you may signal 
a passing vessel, and so get back to your friends. But 
there are simpler methods that will occur unsuggested. 

4. How to know poisonous snakes : Don’t know 
them ; do not have anything to do with any snake 
whatever. The best are bad. If Adam had only giv- 
en mother Eve that morsel of advice, how many un- 
pleasant historical and contemporary concerns might 
have been escaped ! But there — perhaps he did tell 
her. Women must talk ; and probably no girl ever 
had so much to say, and so few people to say it to, 
as poor Eve. I don’t for an instant suppose that she 
chatted with the serpent until she had fairly wearied 
every decent beast of the field to death with anec- 
dotes about Adam and one thing and another. 

The practical value of this book must, of course, 
largely depend upon the character and mental attri- 


88 


FOLLY AND FKESII AIK. 


butes of those who read it. Many prefer to tackle 
their difficulties in their own way. 

Talking of cattle, the oxen and steers and heifers 
and bullocks and kine generally and even calves 
here take an extraordinary interest in the Doctor 
and me, and in our fishing. They watch us and 
follow us with an evident enjoyment, that, had it 
appeared in human beings, w T ould have been most 
gratifying, but which, merely manifested by dumb 
animals, becomes irritating and ridiculous. It strikes 
me, as I sit here writing in peace and safety, re- 
moved from the field of adventure by considerable 
tracts of country and of time, that among those low- 
ing herds, and in addition to the oxen, heifers, and 
other varieties named, there may have been present 
bulls also. This did not occur to me before, and I 
am glad of it, because, though I do not fear a bull, 
as long as I can see the bull fears me, yet the knowl- 
edge of the near presence of such a thing might have 
flustered me occasionally, and caused me to fish with 
less delicate skill and accuracy than is my custom. 

That evening I angled uneventfully, while the Doc- 
tor photographed and lost his temper because the 
sun would set in its usual quarter, instead of round 
the corner of an old mill, where he wanted it to set. 
He very nearly had an open breach with the sun 
about it ; and if that ruddy orb had not vanished, 
so ending the matter, it is hard to say how such an 
affair would have gone. As it is, the Doctor may 
get a stroke to-morrow, if the sun happens to notice 
him and remember it. 


FOLLY AND FLESH AIR. 


89 


CHAPTER VI. 

TIIE CAT ENTERTAINS — ANALYSIS OF FELINE CHARACTER — A 
SEA-SIIELL — IN CLOUDLAND — BROWN AND GRAY HARMO- 
NIES — THE EXPERT— MY ABASEMENT — UNPARALLELED AD- 
VENTURE INVOLVING HAM SANDWICHES — HIGHWAYMEN, 
HUMAN AND OTHERWISE — NATURE’S TRIALS — MY REAL 
WORK IN LIFE FRUSTRATED. 

This night our landlady’s cat gave a soiree in the 
garden. Every cat of any importance in the neigh- 
borhood must have been present. There was sing- 
ing, with refreshments, dancing, flirting, and scan- 
dal-mongering. Some of the voices were powerful 
and good, though quite untrained. I could hear our 
cat organizing and issuing commands, and superin- 
tending everything. They kept it up very late. My 
contribution was a big sea-shell that graced the man- 
tel-piece of my bedroom. I had no objection to the 
soloists, any more than I particularly mind the cry- 
ing of one infant, but when it came to glees and 
comic songs with choruses, it appeared to me that 
the cats were rather overdoing it. So I sent forth 
the shell, recording thereby a vote of ostracism on 
the entire feline entertainment. Of course they did 
not take the hint. 

Concerning all cats, there was a time when I liked 
them better, and thought more highly of them than 


90 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


I do now. But I am convinced that very little can 
be said for them. They limit tlieir horizons, they are 
supremely egotistical, they are intemperate. Their 
treachery is a household word, and of honesty they 
have no notion. Their private lives will not repay 
scrutiny, and the young have no respect for the old 
or regard for them. Their extreme cleanliness is 
quoted in their favor, but rake-hells and debauchees 
are notoriously particular and vain of their persons 
all the world over. Cats and civilized human beings 
are the only animals that swear effectively, and prob- 
ably cats began it, if evolution is to count. Unlike 
mortals, however, a cat has all its bad language at 
command from infancy ; it is born with a vocabulary 
comprising the vilest expletives and oaths; for from 
the mouths of even suckling cats, kittens in fact, I 
have heard language ill adapted to youth. Further, 
a cat is not really a tame animal. He only pretends 
tameness because he finds it pays him better in the 
affairs of life. 

There was an unpleasantness about the sea-shell 
at breakfast. Mrs. Yallack came in and asked me 
for it. I told her how I had occasion to fling it into 
the garden. I volunteered to go out and look for it. 
She said that the matter was of no consequence, but 
her shell had a personal value, and was connected 
with many memories of her childhood’s home. She 
asked me if I had treated a little china figure, that 
was wont to stand by the shell, in the same way. I 
said I rather feared that I had, and blamed myself 
bitterly. I could not understand how I came to do 


FOLLY AND FRESII AIR. 


91 


such things. Who was I that I should bombard one 
person’s cat with another person’s bric-a-brac ? The 
Doctor found the shell, and I found the image, both 
intact. We took them into the kitchen with tri- 
umph, and the landlady thanked us, though not heart- 
ily; while as to the recovered treasures, I never saw 
them again. 

The cat was surly and grumpy, and bad company 
altogether that morning. I suspect he found that 
these lavish conversaziones run into more money 
than one bargains for. Or it may be that I struck 
some lady friend of his with the shell last night, and 
he had all the blame of it. 

To-day the Doctor and I divide our forces. He 
is to fish over the old water where we met the keep- 
er ; I am to investigate a more remote river. Our 
guide-book explains that the Plymouth “leat” is 
drawn out of my new stream, and that above the 
spot where this body of water leaves it the river is 
naturally much bigger and the fishing better. Not 
that I am coming to care about big trout, or particu- 
larly want to catch them ; but I intend sending some 
fish to town presently, and desire that these shall be 
more considerable in size than any yet taken. The 
men at my place of business know nothing about the 
smallest fish being sweetest, and would probably in- 
dulge in some low, cheap chaff, if I forwarded them 
a couple of dozen fair average mountain trout. I 
shall, therefore, humor their ignorance, and kill a big 
one or two for their especial benefit. 

The day was dull and rainy. My road lay over 


92 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


high, lonely country, across desolate moor, and among 
mountain peaks. Nature sang a sober monotone to 
me, and never a soul I saw for miles. The mist 
tracked my footsteps, creeping and curling and play- 
ing strange pranks, raising impalpable barriers on 
every side, anon breaking in ragged rifts where the 
tors thrust their heads through; and all the world 
was brown and gray. When the heavy vapors dis- 
persed at unexpected moments, a savage, rugged re- 
gion of granite-strewn hill-side, a bewildering chaos 
of weather-stained bowlder, piled and scattered and 
rent as though by earthquake, was revealed. The 
moisture-laden atmosphere produced an optical con- 
dition of extreme clearness. Things appeared nearer 
than was in reality the case; every trifle of rock, 
stunted tree, or grazing sheep stood out distinctly 
and vividly. Then the misty curtain fell again, and 
from its cool, fresh depths there came the occasional 
jangle of a bell or a thud of hoofs, as the Dartmoor 
ponies raced, sure-footed, over their wild domain. 
And these were all the sounds I heard, save a hushed 
pattering of rain-drops from many boughs where I 
crossed the fringes of a coppice. Silent, immovable, 
peaceful, separated from its volcanic and glacial ag- 
onies by the span of unnumbered centuries, Dart- 
moor has still secrets in its heart, secrets of beauty, 
secrets of protean variety, of gleam and glow, of mu- 
sic and silence, for all who wander there. Each shall 
find something to his taste ; each shall hear a sooth- 
ing message if he but listen long enough; each shall 
feel the enchanter’s wand touch his heart ; for this 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


93 


wild territory commands admiration and conquers 
the most stubborn and the most ill-furnished with a 
gift of Nature worship. But there are few who have 
not some little corner of Mother Earth treasured in 
their thoughts; surely very few who cannot conjure 
some happy, vanished scene, and sigh over it. After 
supreme moments of joy and sorrow, the unconsid- 
ered accidents of environment, overlooked at the 
time, will flash out, clear and bright from the mem- 
ory, as photographs rise, like ghosts, from the plate. 
Sad and beautiful are those dreaming lands of dis- 
tant recollection. Time softens their vivid outlines, 
mellows their crude intensity, creates of them a 
peaceful refuge for the thoughts of men, a dim Ely- 
sium where smiles and sorrows mingle, and the heart 
cares not to separate them. 

A shaft of silver, feathered gray, had managed to 
tear its airy course downward through the dense, 
low clouds above. Presently another watery gleam 
broke through in a different direction ; the mists 
began to thin at their edges, and fret their white 
hearts away into infinity. Then the weather slowly 
changed, till at length a glory of sunlight set ten 
thousand dew-drops glittering over a transformed 
world, burning with color rich and rare. Fragments 
of rainbow glimmered upon the fleeting vapors, and 
vanished ; farther and farther apart the curtains 
rolled on every hand ; the sun shone out of a blue 
sky ; birds and insects and lizards innumerable, tak- 
ing heart, came from their divers shelters to greet 
him ; the dead moor lived again, and her shroud 


94 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


sank into distant valleys ere it finally vanished be- 
fore the ardent rebuke from above. 

The river I am to fish winds through a broad 
plain, knee -deep in fern and undergrowth, lying 
between lofty, granite - crowned hills. Followed 
towards its source, the stream seems like to lead 
through a particularly wild and lonely region, where 
there may be much incident and adventure await 
ing me. 

I had put up my rod, adjusted the gear, and was 
about to make a preliminary cast, when a fisherman, 
in brown tweeds, and with a wide-awake air about 
him, sauntered towards me. 

“ Doing any good ?” he asked. 

“Doing myself good,” I answered, evasively ; but 
he would not be put off with this. 

“ Killed anything ?” 

I had not, as a matter of fact, taken life to-day ; 
no wasp had even fallen to me. 

I said, rather cleverly : 

“ Have you?” 

“ A tidy fish or two. Try a small ‘March Brown.’ 
You will find they fancy it.” 

I was about to give him a word of advice, assur- 
ing him that a “March Brown” would be absurd on 
such a day, when he, fortunately, interrupted me and 
invited me to see what he had caught. Now if an 
angler does this, he has probably enjoyed excep- 
tional fortune. I approached him, therefore, with 
some curiosity. Heaven and Earth ! the man was 
an expert, a master of his art. “Tidy !” His creel 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


95 


contained huge monsters of the deep, old patriarchs 
of the stream, measuring twelve good inches, or even 
more, from nose to tail, and weighing I should fear 
to say what. I ought to have arrived here sooner; 
I am at least a day too late. He must have taken 
every big fish out of the river. I did not, of course, 
show all this admiration and excitement. I had no 
wish that the man should suppose I had never seen 
such trout before. I admitted they were “ tidy,” but 
abstained from gushing. 

Then he said : 

“There’s a beauty a mile up stream, just a yard or 
so below a tree stump that hangs over the water. I 
couldn’t touch him. He’s rising, too.” 

“ Ah, I’ll see what I can do,” I answered, cheer- 
fully, in a tone implying that the big fish was as 
good as dead. “ I’m only just starting,” I added. 

“A beginner, I expect.” 

How dense some men are. Of course, I did not 
mean that. I made no answer, but cast into the 
stream — a finished, perfect cast, which must show 
him plainer than any words of mine that I have 
fished for years. 

He said : 

“ You won’t catch anything there.” 

Won’t I? Well I have ; not a fish certainly, but 
some concern that refuses to leave the bottom of the 
river. I walked boldly in, to show him that I was 
no fireside fisherman, but one at least as courageous 
as himself, if not so fortunate. 

He said : 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


“Wading is not allowed in this water. If the 
keeper sees you there he will make an awful row.” 

Then I came up on to dry land again, and yielded 
to the man’s superior knowledge and skill. I threw 
myself on his generosity, and asked for some of his 
small “March Browns,” and confessed that I was not 
an angler with any reputation or extensive experience. 

He said : 

“I thought you were one of the ‘Chuek-and- 
chance-it ’ school the moment I saw you. You take 
too much interest in the scenery.” 

Instead of being annoyed at this remark, I felt 
gratified. The expert tells me that there exists a 
piscatorial school known as the “ Chuck-and-chance- 
it.” He furthermore adds that I belong to this 
school. I must be a typical “ Chuck-and-chancer,” 
because he recognized me for one in an instant. 
Such a reflection has its bright side ; because, if after 
less than a week’s angling, I can thus take my place 
in the ranks of a widely-known class of fishermen, a 
time may yet come when I shall cease to be a “ Chuck- 
and-chancer,” and rise to those heights of scientific 
proficiency upon which this new acquaintance ob- 
viously stands. 

He gave me some flies, and was very sportsman- 
like and pleasant. He said: 

“ Most annoying thing in the world. I have lost 
my lunch. It consisted of a neat packet of sand- 
wiches. If you see any such packet, you will great- 
ly oblige me by shouting down stream.” 

I promised to do so, should Fortune throw his 


FOLLY AND FEESH AIE. 


97 


sandwiches in my way. I gave him the leg of a 
fowl and some salt in a piece of paper, just to keep 
the wolf from the door ; and so we parted under 
mutual obligations. I was determined to find the 
man’s sandwiches if I could. I liked the idea of 
finding them. I pictured his glad smile on seeing 
the treasured and lost refreshment once again. My 
fishing, therefore, lacked finish and deadliness. I 
killed three trout, but the “ March Brown ” had 
really more to do with it than I. And then, by ev- 
erything that was lucky, I actually came upon the 
sandwiches, lying on the top of a high bank above 
the river. They were in a neat white parcel, as fore- 
told. I caught them up and hurried a^vay down 
stream to rejoin their owner. I shouted, and even 
yelled, in my anxiety, but could get no response. I 
spent half-an-hour waking the echoes, and finally ar- 
rived at a spot miles below where I met the man. 
To hunt farther after him appeared useless. It was 
very disappointing. I looked at the sandwiches. 
They were ham ones. The expert must have been 
passionately fond of mustard. Now it chanced that 
my own lunch had been comparatively light, after 
the fowl’s leg, already mentioned, was subtracted 
therefrom. It could not be particularly immoral, 
under the circumstances, to send these poor lost 
waifs after the meal I had already made. To cut a 
long story short, I ate the sandwiches, mustard and 
all, and felt the better for them. I then went up 
stream once more, fishing with very reasonable 
success. 

7 


98 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


I pushed rapidly forward, and at length came 
upon yet another angler. He was a stiff, solid little 
person, with a red complexion and white mustache. 
He had a severe frown on his face when I met him, 
and seemed exercised and wretched about some pri- 
vate concern. 

“ Any sport ?” I inquired, heartily. 

“ Sport be hanged,” he said; “ I’ve lost my lunch.” 

Now this is a most extraordinary coincidence. 
Here are three fishermen met about the same stream, 
and two out of the three have lost their luncheons. 

“ You amaze me,” I said. 

“ Ham sandwiches,” he continued ; “ I put them 
down on the bank for half a second and they vanish.” 

I said : 

“My dear sir, this is remarkable. You are the 
second man who has lost a packet of ham sandwich- 
es on the desolate moor to-day. By the greatest 
good-luck I have already found one lunch that be- 
longed to a man down stream ; and if Providence 
will allow of my rescuing yours also I shall be in- 
deed delighted.” 

He said : 

“You may have found mine ; let me see them.” 

This was an awkward turn for affairs to take, the 
more so because his suggestion came as a painful 
surprise. 

I said : 

“No, no ; I am confident they belonged to a man 
down stream. He had plastered them with mus' 
tard ; you wouldn’t have liked them.” 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


99 


“ They were mine,” he declared, positively. “ Y ou 
must have taken them when I was under the bank 
getting some water. Lucky we met. Where are 
they? I want them.” 

I said: 

“ I will not tell you a falsehood. The simple fact 
is that I have eaten them. I would not have done 
such a thing for fifty pounds if I had known. I 
certainly thought they belonged to a man down 
stream.” 

I never saw anybody get so angry in such a short 
time as that little fellow did then. He actually 

d d the man down stream ; he said he did not 

believe in him ; he turned a ripe green fig color, and 
asked me how I dared to eat another person’s lunch, 
and what business I had to do it. 

I said: 

“I did not regard the matter as business at all. 
It was a pleasure to me to eat them.” 

He used an expression that blistered the summer 
foliage wdthin a radius of twenty yards. 

He asked : 

“And what am I going to do, I should like to 
know ?” 

I felt I could tell him the answer to that. It was 
a straightforward question only admitting of one 
reply. 

I said : 

“ Go without, I should be afraid.” 

He was extremely rude. He told me I had com- 
mitted a deliberate act of theft, and that he would 


100 


FOLLY AND FKESH AIR. 


summon me for two pins. I answered tliat he might 
do so at the first opportunity if he had a mind to, 
and if he thought it would comfort him. I gave 
him my address, and insisted on his taking it. I de- 
manded his in exchange, but he refused to give it 
up. Rarely have I endured such a scene of bitter- 
ness and recrimination. Hunger must have been 
gnawing his very vitals, otherwise he would never 
have permitted himself to say the things he did. I 
argued with him and tried to soothe him in vain. I 
offered him two teaspoon fuls of weak whiskey-and- 
water, which was all the nourishment of any de- 
scription I had left. He consigned the fluid to a 
place where it is conceivable such stuff might com- 
mand ready attention. I said that misery of this 
kind was merely transitory, and must be borne with 
fortitude. I advised him to grub about on the 
moor for whortleberries, or, failing them, to chew 
young grass or eat clay, a thing which savage races 
do in similar difficulties. I offered him a cigar I 
said: 

“Cheer up; there is yet another packet of juicy, 
good sandwiches knocking about somewhere.” 

Thereupon, losing all semblance of human dignity 
and self-control, he plainly told me to go to the 
devil. 

I was shocked and pained ; I could scarcely be- 
lieve my ears. I said : 

“ I sha’n’t hurry for you.” 

He answered : 

“ Leave me, young man, or I shall forget myself.” 







FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


101 


I told him that, to my mind, he had already done 
so. I got up onto a granite bowlder where he could 
not reach me or offer violence, and pointed out his 
faults to him. I said : 

a I have eaten your sandwiches and I regret it ; 
but such an accident might have happened to any- 
body. How was I to know they were yours? You 
should not leave things about in a lonely place like 
this. I blame you for losing your sandwiches, not 
myself ; and I blame you for losing your temper. I 
deeply deplore my part in the affair, but consider 
an apology is quite as much due to me from you, as 
from me to you. The man who can send a fellow- 
creature to the devil, upon the paltry pretext of 
having eaten a ham sandwich in error, is much to be 
pitied. Good-afternoon.” 

I left him lashing the water and tearing his way 
through brambles by the river’s brink. He was in no 
condition to fish, and not fit society for man or beast. 
I felt candidly sorry for him, but trusted I should 
never see him more. It would not much surprise me 
to hear that he has committed suicide. And all be- 
cause I have eaten his lunch. 

This painful incident robbed the day of its quiet 
peace and pleasure. I wandered on, fishing in a dis- 
heartened fashion, with every bit of joy and spirit 
knocked out of me. I shall never eat another ham 
sandwich ; and I shall never again give a man advice 
when he is in a rage. It was because I kept so cool 
that he grew so hot, I suppose. He felt he was in 
the wrong, and it simply maddened him to know that 


102 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


I, with his lunch in me, stood there calm and col- 
lected, and pitied him, and regretted to see him mak- 
ing such an exhibition of himself. If I had lost my 
temper, too, we might, perhaps, have separated better 
friends. In a quarrel, when both the parties to it are 
bursting with indignation, the matter comes to some 
sort of conclusion pretty soon ; but if one man is cool 
and the other is not, there may be enough bitterness 
brewed to last a lifetime. 

I fished on, and presently got a grand rise when I 
expected nothing of the kind, struck satisfactorily, 
and found I was fast in what must be a big trout. 
He was full of energy, and fought nobly for life, but 
Fortune favored me, and I experienced that blessed 
feeling of getting the net to bank with a heavy, live 
weight in it. This fish was the best thing I had done 
up to the present time. Its weight I had no oppor- 
tunity of estimating until the evening ; its size would 
have fairly qualified it for a place in the expert’s 
basket. I feel that I have been very clever to do 
this. My rod and I congratulate one another mut- 
ually. I am indeed glad that I selected this rod ; it 
fits my hand perfectly ; it almost seems part of my- 
self ; I don’t know what I should do without it. 
After catching a good fish, a beginner becomes all 
nerves and excitement to the tips of his toes, and 
works away as though life depended upon the efforts 
of the next ten minutes. I now found myself grow- 
ing oblivious of all such mundane trifles as space 
and time. It was not until the sun had sunk in fire, 
and the defeated mists crawled from their hiding- 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


103 


places to wind through the darkening twilight shad- 
ows, that I put up my invaluable rod and started for 
home. 

Near the spot at which I finished operations for the 
day stood a weird triple gallows, from which hung 
the corpses of three moles. The people on Dartmoor 
are very unkind to moles. There is a price put upon 
their sleek little heads, and they live a life of diffi- 
culty and danger and sudden, painful adventure. 
For the matter of that a good many other creatures 
have reason to steer clear of the lord of creation. 
Weasels and stoats and owls and hawks and preda- 
tory cats all come to a bad end, and very horrible do 
their remains appear, nailed up for warning in some 
lonesome glen. But it may be doubted if the sight of 
a fellow-blackguard, hanging in chains on some lofty 
gibbet, ever really reformed a “gentleman of the 
road.” Without speaking from experience, I should 
suspect that highway robbery was one of those ex- 
citing pursuits which grew on a man like drink. To 
show such a malefactor the reverse of the medal, the 
remote contingency which may be looming in the 
future, will have no particularly deterrent effect ; for 
thieves are all born under a lucky star, from their 
own point of view, and none among them ever sup- 
poses he, personally, will be reached by the Law — 
until he is. Moreover, viewed from another stand- 
point, they are unconscionable fatalists, and their 
philosophy, therefore, could not permit them to feel 
any sickening from hempen fever, even though a 
brother should be dangling before them. But the 


104 


FOLLY AND FEESH AIE. 


highway robbers of Nature have no opportunities 
for reformation. A sparrow-hawk cannot change 
his beak and his cruel eye, and live on pigeons’ diet; 
a weasel has no power to go from his wickedness and 
emulate the harmless water-rat. “Nature, red in 
tooth and claw,” represents part of the eternal order 
of things. Nature is so prodigal of life that the 
supply enormously exceeds the demand all the world 
over ; that is, the supply of such life as could be dis- 
pensed with by man. There are too many human 
beings, for instance. Of course you could not be 
spared any more than I could ; but I am sure we 
both know half a dozen fellow-creatures of our own 
sex who were really never much wanted. The fittest 
only survive, remember— -a very gratifying reflection 
for people in good health and easy circumstances. 
But putting aside man and his influence and judg- 
ment as to what constitutes the fittest, we shall find 
that Nature’s own favorites are too often the most 
disreputable fellows. 

I should doubt if Nature gets much solid satisfac- 
tion out of man. I should be inclined to think she 
was rather afraid of him. He won’t let her alone. 
He must have his spoke in her wheel, or rather have 
her a captive at his own chariot wheels ; knocking 
down her mountains to build his habitations ; dam- 
ming her rivers ; using her levin-brand to send pri- 
vate messages to his friends ; advertising his pills on 
the bosom of her lakes ; shooting her giant pets ; 
planting his flag on her snowy brows ; cutting her 
up ; tearing her to pieces ; dissecting her ; libelling 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


105 


her ; digging her heart out. She bears a great deal, 
but sometimes mortal insults are more than even 
Nature can tolerate, and she shakes her head and 
frowns. Whereupon the busy, industrious little men 
get blown up in volcanoes, or flattened under ava- 
lanches, or drowned by rivers and oceans, or choked 
underground, or buried in earthquakes, or slain with 
a subtle germ that turns half a continent into a 
church-yard. Nature can hit back very hard some- 
times, and does do so. But we have no right to im- 
agine ourselves her favorites, for, not contented with 
being by far the most disobedient of all her children, 
we develop ideas of our own, and dare to question 
her original designs. Modern man may like to re- 
gard himself as “a joy forever,” but he is not “a 
thing of beauty,” and Nature knows it. 

Take an example : look at two pictures — say a 
Bengal tiger and a small tradesman. It is Sunday 
morning ; the tiger, in orange-tawny coat laced with 
black, and with a grand white shirt-front, sits licking 
his paws in his tangled, jungle-lair of sun-dried canes 
and rank grass. He blinks out at Nature from the 
corner of his great green eye, purs and smiles upon 
his mate and family. The small tradesman, in a top 
hat and other modern furniture, with a general at- 
mosphere of creaking boots and pomatum about him, 
is going to church with his wife and offspring. They 
are right to go to church, but all their clothes tort- 
ure the eye ; all their prayer-books have red edges 
and are unduly large ; all their neckties are of the 
primary colors. 


106 


FOLLY AND FEESH AIE. 


You cannot blame Nature in putting the tiger be- 
fore the small tradesman. Any artist would do so. 
Why, a tiger is a more beautiful thing than the 
most beautiful small tradesman in England. I 
never saw the small tradesman who could touch a 
tiger — or would, for the matter of that. 

And as to tigers’ cubs, I happen to know some- 
thing about them myself. My life dawned in India, 
and on my third birthday, an infant tiger was given 
to me by a man who respected my parents and 
wanted to do them a good turn if he could. I loved 
the little tiger, and we faced life together bravely, 
and shared our bread and milk and biscuits and so 
forth for a fortnight. Then this cub began taking 
too much upon itself, and one day they found it try- 
ing to eat me. Of course man must interfere with 
the laws of Nature as usual. Nature had thought 
the thing out and arranged that I should make two 
meat meals for that cub. The animal was just be- 
ginning to feel its feet. Heredity reminded it that 
solid food would soon be desirable, and Nature 
pointed out how I might be regarded in that light. 
The whole business was ended ; everything seemed 
to fit in comfortably, and, without any conceit, I am 
tolerably certain I should have done that cub good. 
He would have grown to be an adult, man-eating 
tiger, and a great success and a credit both to Nat- 
ure and to me. Then a native upset the entire 
scheme, knocked that beautiful, budding cub on the 
head, and carried me to my parents in triumph, they 
— poor misguided things — actually giving the local 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


107 


heathen a reward. Who thinks of that cub now? 
But I have been reared and tamed and fussed over, 
and brought home to my native country and encour- 
aged ; attempts have been made in the past to edu- 
cate me ; I have been vaccinated, confirmed by a 
bishop, taken out to parties, and finally worked up 
to such an artificial pitch of perfection that I now 
sit here fearlessly writing a book, w T hich shall be 
printed, and perhaps even purchased by the un- 
wary. 

But Nature never took any more interest in me. 
Nature knows that I ought to have been eaten by a 
tiger in the fourth year of my age. If I died to- 
morrow, even though two or three people sent 
wreaths and cards, Nature would not care a straw. 
Still she forgives her puppets at the last ; and, per- 
chance, when the wreaths withered away, and the 
few eyes that had grown dim for a moment were 
dry again, then Nature would drop just one tear, 
from which should spring sweet green things to hide 
up an ugly mound. 


108 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


CHAPTER VII. 

A SCIENTIFIC INVESTIGATION — THE VIOLENT FISHER — MY 
SPIDER — ON EARLY RISING — RECKLESS ASSERTIONS FROM 
THE DOCTOR — THE SHEEP, THE DOG, AND THE HIND — A 
SHORT CUT — THE DOCTOR’S POOL — ITS PECULIAR TENANTS. 

It was, I think, the Merry Monarch who on one 
occasion asked his scientists and philosophers why a 
dead flatfish weighed heavier than a live one. They 
went into the matter, spent a vast deal of valuable 
time in experiment and investigation, and finally 
found that their sovereign had been mare’s-nesting ; 
for a flatfish, whether alive or dead, weighs exactly 
the same. Now, taking a line through trout, I be- 
lieve if the aforesaid wise men had pushed their re- 
searches slightly further, they would have discov- 
ered that dead fishes weigh less than living ones. 
My great capture, mentioned in the preceding chap- 
ter of this record, certainly looked to be a pound 
fish when I took him from the water, but the land- 
lady’s scales declare that he is only three-quarters 
of a pound in weight. Whether the fault rests with 
the fish or the scales I am unable to say ; and the 
fact of trout losing weight after death, though 
everything seems to point in that direction, cannot, 
therefore, be deemed absolutely proven as yet. 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


109 


On renewing my acquaintance with the Doctor at 
supper, I found that he, too, had been successful. 
Numerically, indeed, he surpassed me, but his catch 
could show nothing to compare with my three-quar- 
ter pound king of the stream. He had met the 
keeper again, and had listened to a budget of pri- 
vate and confidential information through accident- 
ally revealing his profession. On hearing that he 
was a medical man, the guardian of the river devel- 
oped ailments of every description, and from being 
an exceptionally hale and robust individual, had be- 
gun to visibly pine away as he stood. He declared 
the scar on his face was caused by somebody drop- 
ping him into the fire when he was a child. The 
Doctor said that he gave him the idea of a man 
■whose word could not be entirely relied upon. My 
brother then told me that he had discovered a won- 
drous pool below a series of rapids or “stickles.” 
Here enormous numbers of trout congregated, and 
he himself had caught no less than four of them dur- 
ing his luncheon. I asked him if, by happy chance, 
he saw the modern Walton, General Lynn, but he 
answered that, of fellow-anglers, he met but one : a 
violent fisherman, who puffed and panted down mid- 
stream like a human steamboat, alarming the fish 
nearly out of the water, frightening the birds, irri- 
tating the insects, breaking branches off trees to 
steady himself, distorting the whole face of Nat- 
ure. 

“And all the time,” said my brother, “he was 
whistling, ‘ See the conquering hero comes.’ What 


110 


FOLLY AND FEESH AIE. 


he had conquered I couldn’t guess — certainly no 
trout with a grain of intellect.” 

We smoked the peace pipe after supper, became 
sleepy to the verge of incoherence, and then, wish- 
ing one another well, wandered to bed. 

This appears to be a good opening for my spider. 
I have been desiring to mention him for some time. 
He is as unlike ordinary country spiders as possible. 
I doubt if there are many London spiders even who 
could “best” him. He lives in a gray, cone-shaped 
web above my bedroom window, and catches sim- 
ply everything that comes into the place, excepting 
myself. When I see some giddy fly gayly buzzing 
round this apartment, I laugh, and do not dash at it 
with a slipper as I should do under other conditions, 
but leave it to go its own way, and always know 
where to find it in the morning. My spider has a 
digestion of iron, and his activity and love of sport 
are such that he does not become gross and bloated 
like many of his race, but keeps in fine training, 
takes exercise of a night, and conducts himself like 
the sensible country -gentleman he is. By doing him 
a service, three days after my arrival here, I was 
able to secure his regard. A change of wind or 
other such cause made the flies desert my room al- 
together, and the spider, having used up his reserves, 
began to grow anxious. Two days passed. He had 
eaten nothing but a paltry gnat for forty-eight hours. 
I could see him moving about restlessly, looking out 
at the weather and getting sick at heart generally. 
On the third morning of his fast I went to see him 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIK. 


Ill 


when I got up. He was sitting out in his door- way, 
haggard and pale and below par. The lurid light of 
hunger was in his eye ; if I had been a shade smaller 
he would have attacked me, and had a mouthful off 
me, or perished in the attempt. There is something 
about the sight of hunger that appeals to almost 
every heart. When we hear that thousands of fel- 
low-creatures are starving, we sigh and deplore it 
and forget it all in the same breath, but if we see 
starvation going on under our eyes, I suppose we bus- 
tle about and try to be useful. 

My spider said, in his own spidery way, “Look 
here, I’ve done a great deal for you in the matter of 
killing flies and other winged things that might have 
ruined your repose ; now is the time to show grati- 
tude. I’m not merely hungry, but right down rav- 
enous. Do, like a good fellow, have a look round on 
my account. Anything will serve : a blue-bottle for 
choice, but, bless your soul, I could eat a bumblebee, 
I’m that scraped out.” 

“ I’ll see what I can do,” I promised, and went 
down and just caught a wasp, hopelessly wrecked in 
some strawberry jam. The wasp would never be 
presentable again ; it must have taken its friends a 
week to polish it up, so I thought perhaps my spider 
might as well have it as not, and took the unhappy 
wasp up to his doom. My spider rushed upon him, 
hurried him off into his inner sanctum, and ate him, 
jam and all. That night the spider was himself once 
more. After dark I could hear him pattering round 
the room as usual, taking his regular exercise, and 


112 


FOLLY AND FEESH AIK. 


squeaking, for all the world, like a mouse. In the 
morning the wind had changed and the flies returned, 
and he secured a daddy-long-legs and other lesser 
insects, and lived on the fat of the land — from his 
point of view — and got into easy circumstances 
again. 

Since the beginning of my visit to Tavybridge I 
have risen with the lark — an action foreign to my 
nature. As a rule I very much dislike going to bed 
at night, and perfectly detest getting up again in the 
morning. Years of study in the matter of rising 
have enabled me to reduce the thing to a science, 
but it is a poor business with me at best. For good 
over-night resolves I should doubt if anybody ever 
rivalled me, but when the morning comes — say a 
dark, frosty one — my conduct is mean and despicable. 
Ideas and arguments and actions take some such form 
as this : 

“ Was that my hot water or was it not ? I should 
judge from the light there is a fog. I will just take 
a look. Whew ! properly cold this morning. A 
frost, I suppose ; then there must be a fog ; they 
nearly always go together. Dear me ! no fog, but 
a hard frost. That is scientifically interesting. I 
must get back to bed for two minutes to think it out. 
Two minutes have gone and I don’t see any solution 
to it. Now then ! Shall I shave or leave it until I 
get to town ? Razors want setting, and there is a 
clear gain of ten minutes if I leave it. I will.” I do. 

“ Have the ten minutes gone, or only five of them ? 
It must be five. Curious, I don’t feel in the least in- 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


113 


dined to get up. What lies before me to-day ? I 
will just run through those things that are to be 
done. What a number of things a man works into 
a day. But he always begins by getting up, of 
course. Well, here goes. I will just count ten and 
then bound out.” I count accurately up to nine, twice. 

“ Now for it. What is the time, though ? Surely 
not ? Good ! I cannot possibly catch my usual train 
without running ; and running in weather like this 
is extremely bad for lungs. I might catch the next. 
But if I am two seconds late in my place of business, 
I get just the same amount of contumely and insult as 
if I was two hours behind time. I’m not feeling quite 
the thing, either. A man must humor his health. 
What d’you say ? ‘ My hot water is almost cold 

out there, and breakfast is ready?’ All right, I 
know. I’m going by a later train.” I sleep again, 
and thus self-respect, honesty to employers, the re- 
ligious teaching of my youth, propriety — everything 
is sacrificed. I rise, of course, sooner or later, and 
descend to my morning meal in a shamefaced fash- 
ion, and creep off to town, feeling that the abomina- 
ble exhibition shall never be repeated. I have tried 
to reform and copy noble models, but it is beyond 
me. I once read of a lovely girl who invariably 
leaped out of bed the instant she was called — some- 
times even before — threw open her casement window 
and buried her Grecian nose in the dewy roses that 
clustered outside. She was a marvel to get up. 
Chapter after chapter she bounded out in the same 
fashion. The author never mentioned whether she 
8 


114 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


dressed herself, or anything of that kind, hut one 
gathered implicitly that she did do so, because the 
beautiful creature moved in the best society, and 
ultimately became a nun. Fired by this notable ex- 
ample, I determined to rise in the same way myself — 
just once, for experiment. Of course the girl had 
great advantages over me in many ways. Her nose 
was Grecian, for instance ; mine is a modern London 
or suburban nose, and nothing clusters outside my 
casement window but a cistern. I am not going to 
bury my nose in a cistern for anybody. However, 
for mere bounding out of bed, my facilities were 
well enough, and I expected to be successful. How 
medical books will tell you that upon waking the 
first thing in the morning and getting on to his feet, 
a man finds himself unsteady and slightly top-heavy. 
This statement interested me a good deal when I 
first read it, because I had noticed the same fact the 
last thing at night in many people. Whether it was 
the matutinal shakiness above alluded to, or the wild 
excitement of getting up when I was called, or a con- 
dition of nervous tension produced by these two 
causes acting together, I cannot tell, but the result 
of my trial proved altogether unsatisfactory. On 
the words “ Hot water ” reaching my ear, I bounded. 
I bounded farther than I proposed bounding by 
about two yards. I bounded farther than there was 
room for me to bound. I bounded, in fact, into 
the fireplace, and lacerated my toes, and sprained 
my different joints and muscles, and went lame for 
a fortnight. Let kangaroos bound out of bed if 


FOLLY AND FRESII AIR, 


115 


they will, but the lord of creation should crawl out 
— and if he does not fancy it when he is out, let 
him crawl back again. I shall be the last to blame 
him. 

To return, I have mentioned my prowess in rising 
with the lark every morning since my arrival here; 
but to-day the lark did his toilet alone, so far as I 
was concerned. I had bad dreams about my ad- 
ventures with the expert and the ruffian, and fancied 
that I had been arrested and ordered to pay a pen- 
alty of three thousand ham sandwiches. 

Finally the Doctor arrived, and told me that the 
hour was late and the breakfast spoiling, and my big 
trout waiting to be eaten. I must, of course, be 
present at the eating of my big trout, so he gained 
his point. 

During the meal my brother remarked : 

" Do you know, it is rather a question in my 
mind if the smallest fish are sweetest.” 

What can be said to a man who thus presumes to 
doubt fundamental axioms of sport? I gasped with 
amazement at the Doctor, and answered : 

“Your experience is not sufficient to justify any 
assertion of that sort.- It has long been accepted as 
a proved fact that the smallest fish are superior to 
all others, and such a remark quite confirms me in 
suspicions I have long had concerning you.” 

“Of what nature?” he inquired. 

“ That you are merely a ( Chuck-and-chancer a 
sort of casual, unintelligent fisherman, all too prone 
to follow his own judgment rather than the mature 


116 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


and digested learning of authorities ; a man who oc- 
cupies himself with the scenery or with original 
theories of angling; a man puffed up and self-confi- 
dent and sceptical of others.” 

He said : 

“ If I am a * Chuck-and-chancer,’ as you call it, 
what sort of fisherman are you ?” 

“I will not presume to fix my own piscatorial 
status,” I replied, “ but may perhaps remind you 
that we have just eaten a trout whose bones alone 
show at a glance the class of fish he was. Without 
putting any undue tax upon your memory, more- 
over, you may recollect who hooked that wily mon- 
ster, who played it, landed it, and brought it home. 
I will say no more.” 

“ Don’t,” retorted the Doctor; “such disgusting 
conceit I have never listened to. Get your things 
and come on. We will fish my stream again to-day, 
if you have no objection.” 

The Doctor’s local geography is just in that dan- 
gerous stage when a man begins giving himself airs, 
telling you what you will see round the next corner, 
and alluding to short cuts. Of the last my brother 
knows, or believes he knows, one that may save a 
mile. J ust as if anybody wanted to save a mile of 
such hill and dale as surrounds us here. I told him 
that short cuts in any direction were unscientific, 
and that I was surprised a man of his penetration 
and soundness should condescend to them. For an- 
swer, he advised me not to talk and dawdle, but put 
my best foot foremost. I replied that there was 


FOLLY AND FKESII AIK. 


117 


nothing to choose between my feet, and he pretend- 
ed to be annoyed and hurt. He said that he sup- 
posed we had come out to fish, not to fool ; he in- 
creased the pace up a stiff hill, and reduced me to 
silence. On the crown of this mountain he stopped 
and pointed to a distant elevation capped by a 
square, gray tower. 

“ That,” said he, “ is an ancient and remarkable 
place of worship ; as old as any on Dartmoor, they 
tell me — of course, not including cromlechs. To- 
morrow being Sunday, we will go there.” 

Then he sped forward again. He is in one of 
his masterful moods to-day, and must be handled 
gently. 

As we approached the stream and his cherished 
pool he thawed a little, and told me something about 
kingfishers. He said : 

“You may not know why these birds are so 
called. It is not because they are the kings of 
fishers, because, though possibly better than mere 
6 Chuck-and-chancers,’ such as myself, they yet fall 
far short of sustained brilliance in the art of fishing, 
like yours. Ho, the bird receives its name from its 
peculiar note, which is said to sound like the word 
ke-fee-schewer” 

I said : 

“Very likely.” 

This reply of mine made him perfectly savage. 
He asked : 

“What the dickens d’you mean by ‘very likely?’ 
You could not have answered more idiotically. 


118 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


‘Very likely,’ indeed ! There’s no question of like- 
lihood about the matter at all ; it’s a fact.” 

I apologized ; I explained that what I intended to 
have said was “very interesting;” but he never 
tried to believe me. He answered : 

“.Some people are so precious fond of teaching, 
but seem incapable of learning.” 

A dog and a man and a flock of sheep afforded 
welcome incident here. The affair was like one of 
those exasperating puzzles so common recently, only, 
instead of marbles and card-board, the sheej) were 
real, and the dog was real, and the man, we found 
afterwards, was a real man, though a poor specimen, 
judged cursorily. As far as we could gather, the 
problem appeared simple enough. The sheep were 
scattered over the side of a steep, gorse- covered 
hill; this elevation was surmounted by one of those 
loosely-piled stone-walls common on the moor ; and 
at a certain point in the wall stood an open gate, 
through which the man and the dog, combining 
their energies, intended to drive the sheep. The 
man gave the orders, the dog would doubtless obey 
them. The sagacity of these animals (I mean dogs) 
is proverbial. I expected a treat, and even the Doc- 
tor stayed his course a while. 

The hind saw he had an audience, and prepared 
to do the thing handsomely. He said : tc Hoop, 
theer ! On to ’em,” and waved his staff. 

Of course we did not understand him; but the 
dog must know perfectly what he is talking about. 
We therefore turned to the dog. The misguided 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


119 


beast either could not or would not obey. The man 
tried again : “ Hoop, there ! Hi on to ’em, lad.” 

The dog rushed into the very centre of the flock, 
and began larking about and pretending he was a 
wolf, and upsetting and unnerving the sheep com- 
pletely. The man issued further commands, none 
of which were apparently interesting to his assist- 
ant. Presently the dog stopped to drink some water 
from a little stream that guttered down the hill-side. 
The man watched his opportunity, stalked the dog 
under cover of furze-bushes, and then, getting sud- 
denly within striking distance, hit the guardian of 
the flock a direful blow over the back, swearing as he 
did so. Thereupon the dog screamed and shrieked 
and danced with indignation, and fled away at racing 
speed towards the horizon. We sympathized with 
the shepherd on his having such an ignorant, head- 
strong dog, and he explained that it was another 
man’s, lent to him because of its exceptional powers. 
He remarked : 

“ What I sez is, don’t hey nought to do along of 
dogs ’less yew can get proper broken dogs. Dang 
bad dogs, that’s what I sez.” 

I comforted him by declaring : 

“ You did your best ; you tried to break the dog.” 

The Doctor asked if it was important his sheep 
should be collected, and offered to help him get them 
together. He said that it did hot much matter about 
the flock, but he would take it “ main kind ” in us to 
give him some tobacco to chew, and if we saw the 
dog, he would take it “main kind” in us, again, to 


120 


FOLLY AND FEESH AIE. 


“lace its hide off of it.” He was a dirty, unpleasing 
old man, with a cracked voice. I had seen the same 
kind of thing on the stage, only better done. We 
gave him tobacco, and left him arranging a rather 
trying programme for the dog, which that beast will 
probably refuse to carry out. 

This incident did not soften the Doctor’s heart tow- 
ards me. He could be polite, almost fulsomely so, 
to the undesirable and brutal peasant we have just 
parted from; but for me, his brother, he had noth- 
ing but haughty glances and chilling silence. I 
hazarded a quip on a mouse that ran across the road, 
and the Doctor looked at me as if he could have 
killed me. I tried pathos, to which he listened with 
a sort of icy surprise. I told him a fact about stag- 
beetles, which must have been news to him, because 
I invented it purposely ; but he merely shrugged his 
shoulders. I am beaten and cowed and worn out. 
I can only hope that he will soon reach his blessed 
pool, and catch something we shall have to take 
home between us on a pole. Perhaps that might 
pull him together. 

The scenery alone should have cheered him up. 
Where his short cut, which we presently traversed, 
would take us to, I did not know or care, but it was 
as beautiful and picturesque a thing in its way as 
I ever saw. An ancient, neglected lane, carpeted 
with grass, that hid the ruts in it; bordered by lofty 
hedges, rich with ferns below, honeysuckle and 
bryony above ; and canopied with a green, music- 
making dome of rustling hazel — such was the Doc- 


FOLLY AND FEESH AIE. 


121 


tor’s short cut. I suppose there is a good and suffi- 
cient reason for hacking and dismantling these 
beautiful old lanes, if one only knew it ; but, artis- 
tically, their charm vanishes for years beneath the 
ruthless bill-hook and periodical prison crop. 

At last the stream was reached by us, at a point 
one hundred yards above my brother’s prolific pool. 
As he prepared for the fray the Doctor grew more 
gracious, and invited me to precede him to the scene 
of his former triumph. This, of course, I refused to 
do. I said : 

“No, far be it from me. You are familiar with 
this pool, you understand it, and have already proved 
the terrible fascination your fly possesses for its in- 
habitants. Forward !” 

Thus put upon his mettle, he cautiously approached 
the spot. Twenty yards off he bid me crouch down, 
and began conducting himself with the caution of 
an Indian on the war trail, or some hunter of big 
game stalking elephants. We crept forward, foot 
by foot, and had got within some ten or so yards 
of the pool, when a tremendous splash sounded 
from behind the belt of trees that separated us 
from it. 

“ A salmon !” whispered the doctor, trembling with 
excitement. “ What did I tell you ?” 

“ You never told me they could talk,” I murmured 
back. 

There was no doubt about it ; a human voice was 
issuing up from the water, the treble voice of a young 
boy. It said : 


122 


FOLLY AND FRESH ATE. 


“O-o-o-h! it’s beautiful! Come in, Jones, you 
fool ; don’t stand shivering there.” 

We heard another prodigious splash, which must 
have been the fool Jones taking the advice offered 
him. Then the Doctor, blazing with wrath, dashed 
round the trees onto the bank and confronted them. 
There they were, bobbing about and gasping, and 
pulling the hair out of their eyes, in the very heart of 
the pool — exactly where one would have dropped a 
fly, in fact; just two small, insignificant boys, but 
big enough naturally to frighten trout and salmon, 
and any ordinary timorous fish. A shark or some- 
thing courageous of that kind would not have 
minded them. 

“ You little brutes,” began the Doctor, “ how dare 
you get into this stream ?” 

The lesser boy, whom I took to be Jones, was 
horrified by the Doctor’s terrific appearance, and 
tried to dive away out of sight, like a water-rat ; but 
the other boy faced the position, and actually pre- 
sumed to say that he had as much right to bathe in 
the stream as we had to fish in it. I said : 

“ Do you think that men come down from London 
and put themselves to inconvenience, and take out 
licenses, and visit this river for the pleasure of seeing 
you rioting in it, you bad little boy ?” 

The lad swam a stroke or two ; then he found a 
shallow place and sat down on the bottom, with his 
head just above water. He said : 

“The stream is big enough for us both. It is 
hard I can’t swim here if I choose.” 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


128 


“ Don’t sit there arguing with me, sir,” answered 
my brother. “ There is no hardship about it. You’ve 
no manner of business in that water.” 

He whom I believed to be Jones then made a des- 
perate attempt to scramble up the farther bank and 
so escape, but his more plucky friend told him to stop 
where he was. 

“ We’re safe while we stick here,” he said, 
calmly. 

This was true. One cannot do much to a person 
just peeping out from about three feet of water. 
Indeed, considering the disadvantage of his posi- 
tion, the Doctor kept up his end of the argument 
very well. He put on a bullying manner, very 
strange to his true nature, and told the boys that 
he wanted their addresses, and that if they refused 
to give them up, he should pitch their articles of 
wearing apparel into the river. How small boys all 
look so much alike undressed, that the social status 
of a perfectly undressed small boy is hard to know 
or guess at. Upon hearing of the contemplated vio- 
lence to his vesture, however, the youth particularly 
addressed gave us a sort of clew. 

“Take my watch out of my waistcoat, for gra- 
cious sake then. You may do what you like with 
the other things.” 

That the boy has a watch is in his favor; but 
proves nothing conclusively, for he may have 
stolen it. 

My brother renewed his order for the boys’ ad- 
dresses, and from that moment they had it pretty 


124 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


much their own way. Jones, as he now declared 
himself to he, plucked up courage and answered for 
both. He said : 

“This is Master Philip Blank, son of Sir Matthew T 
Blank, who owns this land, and this stream, and 
everything ; and I’m Master Frederick Butler J ones, 
his friend, staying here for the holidays ; and it’s 
hard if a boy cannot go swimming in his own 
father’s stream, and if the keeper was here he would 
tell you the same.” 

I laughed, but the Doctor did not move a 
muscle. 

“Under those circumstances,” he said, “I shall 
not summon either of you this time. Now get out 
and dry yourselves. You have had quite enough 
bathing for to-day.” 

Upon these words the hope of the house of Blank 
came shivering forth, and “Jones, his friend,” find- 
ing we did not molest him, followed. They grew 
exceeding amicable and worrying after once more 
getting into their clothes. They stuck to us like 
leeches for nearly two hours, and then the boy 
Blank, consulting his timepiece, declared that lunch- 
eon would be about going on at the house, and sug- 
gested that we should follow him and assist at it. 
We thanked him, but feared such a scheme had draw- 
backs. Upon hearing this, the warm - hearted boy 
Blank proposed foregoing any meal until the even- 
ing, so that he might enjoy our society ; but the 
more calculating boy Jones evidently wanted his 
lunch, and said as much. They whispered aside, not 


FOLLY AND FKESH AID. 


125 


to hurt our feelings, and finally sped away together, 
evidently bent, I should suspect, or snatching a hasty 
meal, and then getting onto our track once more. 
We saw both boys again the next week, but under 
vastly different circumstances. 


126 


FOLLY AND FLESH AIL. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

TRIBULATIONS— A PLEASxYNT LUNCHEON — ADVICE — I INSULT 
THE DOCTOR — HEAVY-HANDED PUNISHMENT — “ ONE WOE 
DOTH TREAD UPON ANOTHER’S HEEL” — DESERTED — HOR- 
RID DETERMINATION ON MY PART TO DIE— SURGICAL AID 
— A SOPHISM — EVENING LIGHT — HARMONY IN EBONY AND 
SILVER — THE RETURN OF PEACE. 

From the departure of the boys, my brother’s 
temper steadily improved, until he presently worked 
himself into the highest spirits. I, on the other 
hand, who had started in a particularly pleasant 
humor, now found a sullen and morose frame of 
mind creeping upon me. A series of misfortunes 
and minor miseries drove me to it. Nothing went 
right from the moment I began to fish. I seemed to 
be out of touch with Nature. A foolhardy thirst for 
novelty and adventure kept my “Blue Upright” to 
the tops of trees and other impossible places, from 
which, at great personal tribulation, it was necessary 
that I should rescue the fly. The fish did exactly 
what they chose with me, and pretended to rise, and 
jumped over the snare I laid for them, and swam 
under and round it, and were not deceived for a mo- 
ment. My hand was also aching, for even a fly- 
rod, used without intermission for many days, will 
tire a hand unaccustomed to it. My fingers were 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


127 


blistered, my thumb appeared hopelessly out of re- 
pair. Then the live flies were at least as trying and 
fretting to the spirit as the artificial ones. They 
bit me, and buzzed, and compared notes on which 
part of me might be said to have the best flavor. 
They made up luncheon-parties on my ears and the 
back of my neck. They tried to suck all the nour- 
ishment out of me. I had also scratched one leg 
abominably in struggling with a net-work of black- 
berry briers, and something — a poisonous serpent, 
for all I could say — had taken upon itself to sting 
the other leg of me just above my ankle. And all 
the while, in spite of the tropical weather, my 
brother was keeping fairly cool and collected, and 
avoiding worry and having sport. Whenever I came 
across him he had managed to get into the soothing 
shadow of a tree, and had always just caught an- 
other. From beneath his cap protruded some form 
of vegetation. This was to keep the flies away. 
He said that if they smelled the herb, all insects 
• grew faint and flew off not to return. But the plant 
was worse than the flies ; no wonder they grew faint ; 
it had a terrible, almost charnel, odor about it. No- 
body but a medical man could have stood the thing. 

I look back to the mid-day meal of that excursion 
as the one bright spot from morn till eve. We 
found a sequestered nook where the river ran deep 
and slow under spreading beech-trees, and stopped 
a while to think seriously before dashing onward 
again in frivolous ripples and sunshine. Ferns 
fringed its banks and trailed their leaves deep in 


128 


FOLLY AND FEESH AIR. 


its crystal tide. Granite sofas, cushioned with soft, 
dry moss, extended over a dark pool. On the bank, 
which sloped gently upward under the beech-trees, 
there had been a carpet of bluebells in spring-time, 
but now only the foliage of them remained. Here 
we lunched, and afterwards, roaming about, I came 
upon a late wood-strawberry or two, and took an 
exceptionally fine one to the Doctor, expecting, of 
course, that he would say, “Ho, no, keep it yourself,” 
or something of that kind. But he fancied it, and 
thanked me and ate it, saying that he had never 
tasted a better. In the frame of mind I happened 
to suffer from at the time this worried me. I light- 
ed a cigar and sat down and puffed, preserving a 
moody silence. Instead of leaving me alone, the 
Doctor, with best intentions, tried to cheer me. He 
said : 

“You are taking this fishing too much to heart, 
old man. You are staking your happiness and peace 
of mind on it. Keep calm — best plan, I assure you. 
What on earth does it matter whether we catch two ' 
fish or two hundred ? Mephistopheles says : 4 Be 
self-possessed, that is the whole art of living;’ and 
it’s half the art of fly-fishing, too, I am inclined to 
think.” 

How true is it that a man can easier bear his mis- 
fortunes than the comments of friends upon them ! 
This remark of the Doctor struck me as preposter- 
ous and irrational altogether. Here was he deliber- 
ately advising me ; deliberately, from the pinnacle 
of his two dozen trout, extending counsel and in- 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


129 


struction to me, who had taught him (as I flattered 
myself) all he knew about fishing. In my then de- 
plorable vein of temper, I resented his reflections 
bitterly. I answered back, with a view to insult and 
sting him if I could. I said : 

“It is so refreshing to hear a man talk about 
things he thoroughly understands. I do like peo- 
ple who criticise and give unexpected, uncalled-for, 
unnecessary advice that makes you feel as if you 
were sickening for something.” 

The Doctor pretended not to see that this was 
meant personally. He made believe I must be gener- 
alizing, and answered : 

“Very true; but some people cannot help giving 
advice. They are bursting with it. They feel it 
must be scattered abroad, or it will blow them up.” 

“ There is a vast deal more bad advice given than 
good,” I declared, irritably. 

“And taken,” replied the Doctor. Then he rose 
to pursue his fishing, and left me with my thoughts. 

My thoughts tried hard to raise a feeling of shame 
in me, and at length so far prevailed that I arose to 
fish once more, saying to myself that I would act 
quietly and reasonably, and allow nothing to up- 
set me. 

The futility of this resolve was immediately made 
manifest. At the very start I fell into the river — 
not a mere trifling fall to the knees or so, but a 
ponderous and complete collapse that launched me 
in deep water over the middle of my person, and 
against which my various mackintosh inventions 


130 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


were useless. The fault was not mine, but a swing- 
ing bridge’s that spanned the stream for the con- 
venience of fishermen. This bridge consisted of one 
wire to hold on by, and one tree stem to walk across. 
Blondin would have thought twice before ventur- 
ing out upon it. I struggled to the bank without 
a word, and sat down in the sun to dry. My matches 
were destroyed and smoking was impossible. Still, 
I did not complain ; I even smiled to myself, won- 
dering the while if I was really keeping my temper 
and being good, or if the volcano in my heart was 
not worse than a few strong expressions would have 
been. I sat in silence, only broken by the crick, 
crick of gorse-pods bursting around me under the 
hot sun. Cattle came along to jeer at my sufferings. 
It got about among gnats and such things that 
I was sitting, half - drowned and unable to defend 
myself, hard by. They flocked in myriads to the 
spot. The Doctor had vanished ; he did not care 
what became of me. The sun refused to dry me ; 
the sun did not care, either; I was alone in the 
world. My indomitable courage hastened to my 
aid. I rose and began fishing again with a hard, 
ferocious glare upon my face. Sheer strength of 
purpose kept me going. I said to myself, “ I will 
catch a trout to-day, though the heavens fall.” The 
heavens were sustained, and I at last captured a 
trout. I did not play him or use a net for him, but 
just dragged him out and killed him, and felt better 
for having killed him. 

The shadows began to grow long, evening ap- 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


131 


proached, and I missed three fish running. There 
was not a breath of wind to send out my line, and 
the rod refused to do so. I wished, by everything 
that was sacred, I had not been in such a hurry to 
buy this rod. It did not suit me at all. It took a 
pleasure in frustrating my best endeavors; it was too 
heavy and too long, and a stupid, valueless alfair, 
looked at from any point of view. Finally, the rod 
turned upon me and stabbed me with the lance in 
the butt of it. That ended my fishing, and I should 
not have much cared at the time if it had ended my 
life. I pitched the vile rod on the ground, and saw 
the blood flowing out of my left hand, and dyeing 
the greensward, and sat down on a tree-stump, and 
gave way altogether. I said : 

“ What have I done that I should be plagued like 
this ? What crime have I committed ? It is mon- 
strous, it is unfair, it is wrong. I’ve had enough to 
break my heart twenty times over to-day, and I 
won’t stand it. I’ll go back to town to-morrow, and 
write a book that shall keep visitors and people 
from this place ; I’ll blast the reputation of Dart- 
moor and everything on Dartmoor. I’ll warn sports- 
men away, and ruin these streams ; and I’m lost 
hereafter if I ever fish again for trout as long as I 
live.” 

I said this over to myself twice, and then to some 
sheep that were looking on. My hand continued to 
send forth a stream of gore, and I nearly made up 
my mind to bleed to death in some conspicuous 
place where the Doctor should find me. His re- 


132 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


morse would be dreadful. But the thought of dis- 
solution, so far away from all the home comforts 
proper to such a time, was disagreeable. I deter- 
mined to live, and so sought out my brother — not 
from any fraternal feeling whatever — but profes- 
sionally. 

Presently I found him, smoking and happy, an- 
gling with one hand, and keeping the cows and flies 
and things away with the other. 

I said : 

“ I believe you are a medical man. For that rea- 
son I desire to consult you, and shall pay you what 
fee you think proper to ask.” 

He said : 

“ What’s the matter now, old chap?” 

I answered : 

“Don’t ‘old chap’ me, if you please. The matter 
is that I’m bleeding to death — nothing to you, of 
course, but very annoying for me.” 

He told me afterwards that I was a pitiable thing 
to look upon just then. 

“Artificial flies were sticking out of you every- 
where ; you were wet and muddy, and bloody and 
blue with rage; you were dragging your fishing-rod 
after you along the ground ; how I kept from laugh- 
ing I don’t know.” 

To return, the Doctor said : 

“Of course, very annoying; and you’re soaking, 
too. What has happened ?” 

“ I’ve been stabbed,” I replied ; “ be so good as 
to examine that hand at once.” 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


133 


“ Dear me ! quite a nasty cut,” he remarked ; 
“how did you do it?” 

“ I didn’t do it, and I refuse to give any details,” 
I said ; whereat he whistled and attended to the 
hand. He bathed it, and polished it up, and then 
wrapped it in a handkerchief. 

“ Now we’re better,” he declared, in a cheerful, 
professional voice. 

“ Speak for yourself,” was all I answered. Then 
he took my rod down and packed the villan- 
ous contrivance out of sight, and did the same 
for his own, as we started homeward, picking up 
different matters I had dropped about the coun- 
try. 

“ It will be all the same a hundred years hence,” 
he remarked, after we had walked above a mile in 
profound silence. 

Now, when a man uses vicious sophisms of that 
sort, such conversation as you may have in you 
turns up the whites of its eyes and stretches itself 
out and expires. “All the same,” indeed ! Why, 
it is we to-day who, unconsciously, are laying a foun- 
dation for the events of to-morrow and all time. 
To take my case, this recent misery may have modi- 
fied my character entirely. My changed disposition 
must, more or less, affect those with whom I come 
in contact ; and they, in their turn, will influence 
generations yet unborn. I have acquired a ferocity 
that, developed through divers channels and impart- 
ed to others, may make things generally entirely dif- 
ferent a hundred years hence to what they would 


134 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


have been. I told him this, and thanked him for a 
lucifer-match. 

The sun had set, the stars were twinkling, the 
valley was full of vapor, that crept in long white 
fingers across the meadow -land and hid the way 
from us. An owl floated rustling overhead, and 
weird batrachian croakings issued now and then out 
of some stagnant backwater running from the river. 
A fish splashed occasionally, and, looking ahead, we 
could still see a faint ghost of the dying western 
light reflected by the water. Outlines grew dim, 
formless, and monstrous ; the darkness gathered, 
and Night, wrapped in her cold mantle of mist, 
brooded over the sleeping land. 

A little later rose the moon, changed by aerial 
alchemy from gold to silver as she ascended, and 
all nature whispered a welcome, sighing of peace. 
From the tenebrous region that slumbered there 
grew a new world of wondrous harmonies in ebony 
and silver. A web of light rippled over the tree- 
tops, fell like rain into the forest’s heart, flashed 
and quivered in gems of dew on grass and leaf. 
Shadows, inky and vast, stretched from the fringe 
of the woods, threw gloomy bridges across the wa- 
ter, and lost themselves on the other side. Moon- 
light and mist wandered in subtle union through 
the valley, and beneath their gray and silver the 
river dreamed away to the distant sea, singing the 
Song of Night. 

My peace of mind returned. I grew cool and 
ashamed. Past vexations appeared inconceivably 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


135 


trivial before this great glory of moonbeams and 
gleaming waters. My own miserable little interests 
and ambitions and hopes and fears faded away. I 
humbly accepted the privilege of being allowed to 
live at all, and move, and have eyes and ears and 
sufficient mental furniture to realize the value of 
what I saw. Here was a new world to me, a world 
with its own light and life and history, a world fa- 
miliar to the fox and the night-hawk, the belated 
peasant, the keeper, the poacher, but new to me. If 
familiarity breeds contempt, I suppose novelty may 
beget awe and interest; and I was glad these visions 
of high mountains and forests, and rivers under 
moonlight, had not been part of my life from ear- 
liest youth, for in that case the charm and revelation 
of them might have missed me. I had then gazed 
as the poacher gazes, or with the still less intelligent 
eye of some other nightly beast of prey. 

I told the Doctor I was sorry for making such a 
harrowing show of myself. I expressed extreme 
regret at the part I had played since lunch, and 
trusted that he would overlook the past. He said : 

“ Under the circumstances, your conduct was nat- 
ural and human. You had much to put up with. 
A little ebullition was justifiable. And I am partly 
to blame. I should not have meddled with you. 
You were not in a condition to take advice or any- 
thing. My tact was at fault. Every man and wom- 
an has got at least two moral nerve-centres, and, 
with the best intentions, it is easy to touch the 
wrong one by mistake. Press one ever so lightly, 


136 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


and the subject becomes all shell, like a frightened 
snail, or pincers, like an angry earwig. Press the 
other and the subject’s heart grows warm ; he or 
she expands, like Nature in June, and you stand to 
find a friend. Some people have a knack of bang- 
ing up against the wrong centre at every turn — 
warm-hearted folks, too, and kindly — but they leave 
shells and pincers wherever they pass. Others seem 
to put a quiet hand on the right centre, and go 
straight for the beauty in a man’s character, as if 
such heaven - sent thought - reading was natural to 
them.” 

“I should have profited by what you said,” I an- 
swered. 

“ The mistake lay, not in what I said, but in say- 
ing it,” he declared. 

Such a vein of sobriety and sentiment surprised 
me, coming from the Doctor. It showed how little 
people really know of each other. Your own fa- 
miliar friend may have a deep well in his heart be- 
yond your power to plumb or remotely guess at. 
Nor is this in reality surprising, for if we remember 
how few men know themselves, it ceases to be re- 
markable that we should find our nearest and dear- 
est and next-of-kin occasionally developing unsus- 
pected secrets of character. 

We journeyed forward, out of the valley onto high 
moorland, where shining flint roadways stretched 
about us through the night, where a music of great 
silence, unbroken by even the murmur of rivers, 
reigned supreme. A wilderness of fancies born from 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


137 

moonlight encompassed me. I conceived strange 
visions of futurity, peopled by all manner of beings 
beautiful and weird ; of a time still far distant, 
when 


“ Man, in the sunshine of the world’s new spring, 

Shall walk transparent, like some holy thing.” 

I also secured a few choice similes, a quaint conceit 
concerning the stars, and so forth. This medley of 
ideas would doubtless have been fine reading, prop- 
erly adjusted, but, perhaps fortunately, it fled away, 
leaving not a shadow, before a certain corporeal 
hunger for meat and drink which now came upon 
me. The Doctor was simultaneously attacked with 
like desires ; and when, from a hill-crest, we beheld 
a glimmering colony of earthly lights below, and 
knew that it was Tavybridge, we made merry and 
hastened with increasing speed supperward. 


138 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


CHAPTER IX. 

SUNDAY — JOHN BUNYAN — LAMENTABLE EXPERIENCE IN A 
PLACE OF WORSHIP — SUGGESTED CONGREGATIONAL ETI- 
QUETTE BOOK — A MOOR CHURCH — CRIMSON AND GOLD — 
THE BUTTERFLIES’ HAUNT — AMONG MANY GRATES — A 
SCAR ON THE HILL-SIDE — IDLE REFLECTIONS. 

To-day is Sunday, when to angle would be poach- 
ing, or worse. Neither the Doctor nor myself re- 
gretted this, for, after the tremendous exertions of 
the past week, a respite of four-and-twenty hours 
had attractions for us both. 

It was rather remarkable that after telling the 
Doctor I should not go to church with him, I chanced 
upon a certain passage in an ancient edition of John 
Bunyan which belonged to our landlady’s library. 
The words occurred in a sort of preface which had, 
in its turn, transcribed them from a tremendous in- 
dictment once hurled against the sturdy conventi- 
cler ; and they set forth, among other matters, that 
“John Bunyan of the town of Bedford, laborer, 
had devilishly and perniciously abstained from com- 
ing to the church to hear divine service,” etc. How 
these quaint and ancient accusations came to influ- 
ence me, it would be difficult to understand, but my 
mind was changed upon the reading of them, and 
without committing myself entirely, I nevertheless 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


139 


undertook to accompany my brother to the distant 
church he had yesterday observed, and to-day pro- 
posed attending. 

It stood on a lofty peak, five miles nearer the 
heart of the moor than we were at Tavybridge ; and 
we started upward in sunshine and a soft, pleasant 
breeze, laden with moorland scents and the music of 
bells, chiming clear, though far distant. 

The day was so fine and the air so peculiarly re- 
freshing, that I changed my mind again about go- 
ing much farther than the lich-gate of the rapidly 
approaching place of worship. I explained to my 
brother that I Had a yearning to spend the morning 
with my own thoughts and Nature. When the se- 
rious humor is on me, church-going invariably dis- 
pels it. He said : 

“ That is a great confession of mental feebleness.” 

I admitted it. I answered : 

“Too true; but while, theoretically, all those as- 
sembled to praise their Maker are equal ; practi- 
cally, sensitive and hypercritical weaklings like my- 
sdf are at a great disadvantage. A circumstance 
once arose which made me devote considerable at- 
tention to the subject of public worship. This in- 
cident I will briefly narrate.” 

I then entered upon the following true recital of 
facts, together with one or two reflections arising 
from them. 

I was just in the vein to go to church one Sunday 
evening, and I very properly went. I sat me down 
in a corner seat, arranged my hat where none could 


140 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


injure it, placed my prayer-book in position, and 
generally laid myself out for an evening’s quiet de- 
votion. I was in a condition of mind almost to be 
termed seraphic when a girl, in a loud hat and red 
gloves, brushed past me into the pew and endeav- 
ored to sit down on my lap. I made room for her 
gloomily — feeling, of course, that the whole beauty 
of my corner seat had now vanished. I sighed, but 
still hoped for the best. The girl fussed about as 
such people will. She arranged her books and her 
parasol and her wraps around her. She then took 
my footstool away from me, and prayed a prelimi- 
nary prayer upon it, breathing hard the while. I 
found that she had been unduly lavish in the matter 
of hair-oil, while, as if this was not enough, she pro- 
duced, in quick succession, a scented pocket-hand- 
kerchief and a thing which looked like a roman-can- 
dle at first sight, but which proved to be a bottle of 
the most powerful smelling-salts. Here, then, was 
I in the baleful range of three odors, and now I 
grew dimly and horribly conscious of a fourth, tran- 
scending all the rest. It appeared to proceed out of 
her prayer-book, which I afterwards found was act- 
ually the case. She had placed a peppermint lozenge 
at the Evening Psalms, and upon reaching that di- 
vision of the service, ate it — I mean the lozenge. 

Despite these lamentable events, I retained some 
measure of outward composure, and even sang a lit- 
tle. But presently she finished her loathsome re- 
freshment, and began to sing, too. Then I stopped. 
I never heard anything at all like it before or since. 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


141 


I expected she would sing, sooner or later. She looked 
as if she would ; but when the vocal effort absolute- 
ly came, it was a revelation of human power, unique 
and astounding. I have heard wolves, and the death- 
wail of swine, and bagpipes ; I have listened to the 
hyena and the barrel-organ, and many another fan- 
tastic sound produced by art or nature ; but all fad- 
ed away in the bizarre war-whoop this young wom- 
an now thought proper to send aloft. It is wasting 
time and ink to describe the noise she made. Her 
vocal register began where a decent person’s leaves 
off ; and it went on from there. A wave of emotion 
swept over the congregation. It started from me 
and ended with the organist. I could see him drag- 
ging out stops and working the heavy bass pedals, 
and crowding on all sail, as it were, to get the horri- 
ble voice under. But no organ ever built would 
have drowned it. The girl had occasion to sing 
something about “Hell’s foundations trembling,” 
and the way she did it was enough to make them. 
A woman fainted, church-wardens and sidesmen, and 
vergers and a sacristan all began to bustle about. I 
looked round in anguish, expecting to find acute pity 
and compassion for me upon all faces. Instead of 
these sentiments, horror and rage and disgust were 
reflected on every side. And then the awful truth 
overwhelmed my reason : 

They thought it was I doing it! 

I nearly screamed out a denial. I nearly said : 
“No, no, you are wrong, you are mistaken. See 


142 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


how I suffer ; I, too, am a musician. I would rather 
die than emit such sounds as these, even if I could. 
Behold ! it is this unhappy woman by my side. I 
know nothing of her. She does not belong to me. 
Remove her, but spare me, who have already suf- 
fered so exquisitely.” 

I did not, of course, make any remark of this kind, 
but got my hat and tottered out into the air, there 
to be met by a sweet murmur of melody that, after 
my recent experience, sounded like the music of 
heaven. But it was only Salvationists, which shows 
what force lies in contrast. Now this bitter inci- 
dent (and scores of my friends have declared that it 
is not a very peculiar one) makes me incline to a 
belief that something should be done towards the 
betterment of behavior in religious congregations. 
There is much quiet, ill-mannered brawling in church- 
es, and certain points of propriety even the cultured 
fail to sufficiently grasp and observe. 

Without myself pretending to the ability and nice 
discernment proper to such a task, I conceive that a 
little guide might reasonably be written by some- 
body : a sort of Congregational Etiquette Book, 
containing concise notes for worshippers, and rules 
of approved good taste for the maintenance of de- 
cency and order in places of public worship. And, 
further, I would suggest that the subject be divided 
under different heads, so that any reader might con- 
sult the index and learn from it concerning such 
point as he is doubtful in. Thus we should have a 
section “ On entering church,” one “ On propriety 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


143 


of selecting an unostentatious seat,” a third “ On 
making way for other people,” a fourth “ On sing- 
ing,” a fifth “ On the giving of alms,” and so fol- 
lowing. 

For an example of what I hope this useful book 
should be, I will venture to treat one of the afore- 
said sections : that “ On singing,” as thus : 

1. There is no absolute necessity to sing. 

2. As a rule, unless you are sure of yourself, it 
may be better to leave it to the choir. 

3. If you must sing, remember this : that men 
sing in church to praise their Maker, not to adver- 
tise themselves or irritate the congregation. 

4. Adhere to the tune. It is the worst taste to 
introduce flourishes and florid passages, and coun- 
terpoint and such barbarous things. By so doing 
you draw undue attention to yourself, and pro- 
mote a spirit in others which is not conducive to 
piety. 

5. Recollect that mere volume of sound can nei- 
ther impress man nor angels. 

6. In the event of having no hymn-book, demean 
yourself calmly, and it is more than probable that 
your next neighbor may offer you the benefit of his. 
If you suspect such will be the case, look to your 
thumb upon that side. It is most undesirable, when 
a fellow-worshipper offers you the half of his or her 
hymn-book, to place an ill-kept thumb upon it. 

7. Should your thumb do you no credit, endeavor 
to polish it up, or else draw on your glove, if you 


144 


FOLLY AND FEESH AIE. 


have one. Failing these alternatives it will be bet- 
ter to say you are short-sighted. 

8. Concerning the Offertory Hymn, do not pre- 
tend to be so engrossed in it that you miss the bag 
or plate when it comes to you ; and do not look 
round afterwards with startled surprise, and a face 
implying that you had proposed putting in half a 
guinea. Such shallow trickery can deceive no one 
who habitually goes to church. 

I write this much to show the class of work I de- 
sire to see produced. It will give me keen satisfac- 
tion, moreover, to do an introduction for the author 
of it when his book shall be ready to print. 

We were now nearly at our destination, and in 
the midst -of a scattered flock slowly ascending to 
church. Hardy yeomen, courteous and respectful 
to a degree only seen far from towns — fine powerful 
fellows in broadcloth, with their wives and daugh- 
ters, were now about us. Ancient gaffers and gam- 
mers also toiled sturdily up the hill, together with 
many clean and nice little children, rosy -cheeked 
maidens, and loutish but brawny youths, whose Sun- 
day garments were unattractive to see, and, appar- 
ently, uncomfortable to wear. Above the lich-gate, 
which at length was reached, stood a wind -worn 
pine-tree or two, dwarfed somewhat, and bent and 
blown out of uprightness by long years of rough 
gales from the west ; and here, as also at the church 
porch, we saw many a warm salutation, hearty 
“ Good-mornin’ to ’e,” and stout hand-shake. 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 145 

\ 

The quaint little building of gray granite, with 
its lofty tower surmounted by the top-heavy pinna- 
cles so often to be seen in this region, stood on a 
broad plateau, in a theatre of varied hill and dale. 
Separated from the church - yard by a wall facing 
east were farm-lands flanked with a few white cot- 
tages ; upon the western side the majestic, purple 
bosom of the moor swept in broad, noble curves 
downward to a wooded valley far below. 

Then, as the last belated worshippers hastened out 
of the hot sunshine into the cool shadows of their 
church, as the murmur of voices, praying in unison, 
floated to my ear, I sat upon the aforesaid eastern 
w^all and took note of many matters worthy the not- 
ing. 

Before me extended a great vision of crimson and 
gold, of bearded wheat, ripe for the sickle, and pop- 
pies, gleaming alone or in clusters through it. 
Waves of dull gold rippled over the corn tops, and 
the scarlet flowers dappled their tide with bright- 
ness, flashing like vivid weeds in a Pactolian river. 
To my feet swept this rich and rustling harvest, to 
the foot of the wall that girdled all that other har- 
vest of graves beyond. Here the herbage was green 
and rank, and ripe with seed ; grasshoppers chir- 
ruped among the tombs ; little lizards, golden-eyed, 
sunned themselves on the lichen-stained memorials 
of the past : on the massive slab of slate, on the 
rough granite cross, on the simple wooden bars run- 
ning from head to foot of the graves, much used of 
old, and still often to be seen remaining. 

10 


146 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


“After life’s fitful fever,” this seemed a last rest- 
ing-place to envy. The rustic dead truly slept well 
in a spot as free and wild as had been their own 
rural lives of toil on the mountain fallows. 

The soft murmur of voices and a subdued breath 
of organ music floated through the silence ; a jack- 
daw praised God also to the best of his ability, caw- 
ing and pluming his shining purple wing on the 
weather-worn tower above me ; great bumblebees 
boomed past, laden with sweetness ; and the air 
danced and trembled over all, under a cloudless dome 
of summer blue. 

Down the hedge of the cornfield extended a trail- 
ing wilderness of wild flowers. Silver- weed, spright- 
ly toad-flax, dead nettles, white and red, an oxeye 
daisy or two, towering foxgloves and others, whose 
names I knew not, all throve here in friendly com- 
pany, and formed a butterflies’ paradise. 

A veritable kaleidoscope the beautiful insects 
made of it. Never before had I seen so many gath- 
ered together. The pale flame-colored Brimstone, 
with his unique and shapely wing, adorned the 
dance, supported by the Small Tortoise-shell, in or- 
ange raiment, fringed with pearls. The Peacock, 
less active, occasionally sat himself by me to rest, 
while I admired with respect his rich brick-colored 
wings and their resplendent eyes. A Red Admiral, 
in gleaming uniform of black and scarlet, flitted 
over to see a friend, and many less notable flies, such 
as the Large and Small Whites, the Sociable Meadow 
Browns, and the Wall Butterflies were of the party ; 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


147 


while tiny Blues and Small Heaths fluttered over 
from the moorland. 

There I sat, blinking and sighing with pleasure to 
myself in the high noon, breathing out a sort of 
anacreontic, wordless song of delight, and courting 
a sunstroke if ever man did so. 

Then I started to meditate among the grassy 
graves. From earliest infancy I have had ghoul- 
like propensities. Indeed, most children have. As 
a frocked babe, out walking with a little wooden 
hoop and a nurse-maid, my conduct was generally 
good and decent, but a funeral always rendered me 
unmanageable in a moment. Upon the appearance 
of such gloomy pageant, I would cast my hoop and 
other childish treasures to the winds, and set forth 
in grim pursuit, even as youths of less tender years 
follow a fire-engine, but with this difference, that 
the engine distances its admirers, while I, by keep- 
ing at a steady, untiring trot, generally managed to 
be in at an interment, if my nurse-maid did not over- 
take me, as was sometimes the case. I used to lit- 
erally hunt funerals, and have mourned at scores of 
them where I had no sort of business. When an 
aged grandparent was taken, and I attended the ob- 
sequies by just right of relationship, my gratifica- 
tion was extreme. I made the most of it, was the 
first to be at the grave-side and the last to leave, 
wept and mourned like any adult; and nobody, of 
course, dared to chase me away. The amount of 
damp enjoyment I got upon that occasion beggars 
belief. People pitied such evident sorrow, but I re- 


148 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


fused any comfort, knowing, young though I was, 
that time is the only thing which brings consolation 
in these cases. Then I went home and had a thim- 
bleful of sherry and a sweet biscuit, and plucked up 
my shattered spirit, and hoped it might please Heav- 
en to take some other near relation of mine before 
long. 

It is different w r hen you grow up and learn to see 
the beauty of having kindred to love. It is differ- 
ent when you stand dry-eyed above the grave of a 
heart that has beat for you from your birth, when 
you see nothing but the vanished eyes looking into 
your own, when you hear nothing but the murmur 
of the silent voice, feel nothing but the dreary agony 
of that irreparable loss. It is different when one 
who shared your life, who gloried in its joys and 
grieved over its sorrows, can do so no longer ; w T hen 
the sun of your being sinks forever, when your home 
is left unto you desolate, and the years to come 
stretch their weary solitudes through a sad region 
of withered hopes and outer darkness. It is differ- 
ent when we stand by a baby’s little grave, mourn- 
ing dumbly the tiny light of life that kindled great 
fires in our hearts, and now, disappearing whence it 
came, leaves them icy cold. It is different when age 
grows upon men, when one by one death snaps the 
living links that bind all souls to earth ; when those 
whom they loved and who loved them each fades 
in turn away ; as, with their dead, they bury the 
interests, hopes, passions, and ambitions w T hich have 
gone to build the total fabric of their work on earth. 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


149 


And it is far different when, at the limit of his span 
of days, an aged man reviews the graves of those 
who long since sang the music and made the sun- 
shine of his life. Yes, one needs to be very young 
indeed to get much genuine entertainment out of a 
funeral. 

Among the graves I now slowly perambulated, 
reading strange verses with rough noble ideas some- 
times hidden in them, and courting thereby entire 
loss of memory, as the ancient superstition hath it. 
The bucolic minds responsible for these productions 
scarcely sounded so loud a note of hope as might 
have been anticipated. Some, indeed, sang of the 
joys beyond, but most were contented to chronicle 
lamented death, adding thereto a word of warning 
for those who, in future years, should survey the 
tomb. Thus we had : 

Reader, consider well , improve your time; 

The grave that next is opened may be thine . 

And, again, this couplet, often repeated : 

Reader , be who you may , 

You are not sure of a single day. 

A favorite device was the carved circle of a clock 
dial telling the hour of twelve, and, beneath it, the 
pregnant words : 

My time is past. 

Not devoid of interest either appeared a rude 
verse set upon the grave of some ancient pair. The 


150 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


lines have an artless simplicity, a naive frankness, 
that is beautiful to me : 

The Lord was pleased to give to us 
A time longer than some ; 

To see our children's children dust — 

Yet now , you see , we're gone . 

Elsewhere I observed the beginning of a verse, 
which furnished a picture in little of every human 
existence, running thus (and not to he taken jo- 
cosely) : 

The cup of life to him was given , 

Tho' hitters in it crept. 

Lastly, to tax your patience no further, I will tran- 
scribe a .blacksmith’s epitaph, and with it make an 
end of this monumental survey : 

My sledge and hammer both declined , 

My bellows too have lost their wind • 

My fire's extinct , 

My forge decayed , 

And in the dust my vice is layed / 

My coal is spent , 

My iron's gone , 

3Iy nails are drove , 

My ivorJc is done. 

Turning now, I looked down upon the moorland, 
where granite -studded fells swept in ragged and 
bold curves to the tors above them and the valleys 
beneath. Far as the eye could see, the same wild, 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


151 


many-tinted landscape extended, until its colors grew 
dim and its outlines vanished in the summer haze. 
But even here, in the lap of laughing, glowing Nat- 
ure — even here, showing but as a gray scar on the 
mountain side, I saw a spot to make men sigh and 
turn their thoughts through channels sad and full of 
pain. Rightly, by the nature of the tale it told, 
might that distant rift be termed a scar. There 
men wrestle with the stony heart of the hills ; there 
bronzed and brawny fellow-creatures, clad in quaint 
garb of yellow and brown and blue, with broad black 
arrows branded on their vesture and, maybe, sharper 
arrows still rankling in their hearts, perform divers 
tasks with pick and trolley and barrow. There, also, 
stand armed sentinels in black to guard each gang ; 
there chains may be heard to rattle where all but 
convict man is free as air; there, in a granite quar- 
ry, the poor sinners suffer their punishment ; while 
far above, the hawk on outstretched wing floats mo- 
tionless, while the life of the moor ebbs and flows 
and rejoices around them, while Nature sings to 
their lonely hearts of liberty. To-day only do they 
rest from their labors, but the scar remains. 

I have often heard men grumble that this noble 
Dartmoor should be made to wear a sorry settle- 
ment like Princetown upon its breast; but, apart 
from considerations of health and convenience, there 
appear, I venture to believe, a hidden right and beau- 
ty in such an arrangement. It is well that the sin- 
stained dwellers in the dark hiding-places of cities 
should see such a land as this ; it is well they should 


152 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


work out their earthly salvation at least amid the 
pleasant and innocent scenes as yet untouched in 
their main features by man. And to hearts where 
the glimmer of good still burns — a flame not to be 
denied to any — Nature speaks in sunshine and si- 
lence, in fleeting mists and sighing winds, breeding 
something that is of heaven, fanning the sparks still 
smouldering in cold embers of despair, softening and 
sweetening and breathing, even to the bitter and 
brutal, a note of Hope. 

Many may sneer at a false sentiment which they 
conceive underlies this notion. But to them I would 
earnestly say that the wordless voice of Nature can 
and does speak to the hardest hearts : and to none 
more forcibly than those who, born and nurtured in 
towns, come to her in ignorance of her secrets, and 
find themselves for the first time amid her great 
manifestations. 

Then from the thoughts of many whose chapter 
of wrong-doing was perhaps forever ended by the 
gracious environment of their mountain purgatory, 
I turned to the raw material. God forgive every- 
body that we should in this enlightened age recog- 
nize a class called criminal. But it is perhaps better 
not to shut the eyes to a fact that every newspaper 
sufficiently proclaims. And it is also to be believed 
without question that this same criminal class has 
babies in very considerable numbers, and loves them, 
according to its lights, like respectable communities. 
Nor is the infant’s education neglected. We may 
imagine his fond parents scheming a brilliant career 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


153 


for the unweaned babe, already seeing fine possibili- 
ties of larceny in the little fat fingers, already claim- 
ing the mite that crows and plays with his toes as a 
recruit in the great predatory army. I look over 
the gorse and granite and heather down to the green 
meadows and the silver waters below. I picture 
these hills and dales alive with the small Arabs of 
our streets and alleys. I see hard young eyes grow 
round and soft in a world that is all new. I see lit- 
tle hands that have been taught their right place is 
in other people’s pockets, now laden with heather and 
tinkling harebells ; little feet that have pattered in 
dark kennels, and over many a mile of chill pave- 
ment, now racing upon the hill-side down to the soft 
grasses and the pure streams below ; and I hear 
voices that have known no true laughter until now, 
pealing childlike here, waking long-silent echoes. To 
the ruddy country babies this is life— they know no 
other ; to the sharp and hungry babies who struggle 
and fight the great fight of existence from their cra- 
dles, these brown and sunny moors, these forests, 
these skies of azure, this land of bells and water- 
falls, of noble sunsets over high mountains, would 
be the glimpses of a paradise, the opening vision of 
a new earth. Is it amiss to vivify Dartmoor, as I 
did then ; to hear, in the murmur of its manifold 
life, an echo of words spoken by the great Lover 
of Children? Is it amiss to picture this region 
of peace spreading its golden and purple arms 
lovingly, yearning to give of its riches to bright- 
en young hearts, whispering over hills and val- 


154 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


leys, “ Suffer the little children to come unto 
me?” 

At any rate a mighty refuge for pauper babyhood, 
a notable home for poor young things that rush un- 
invited into this world to find they have drawn a 
blank, would look better on Dartmoor than a prison 
ever can ; even as a free, growing baby is a sweeter 
sight to behold than a chained convict. 

Their service ended, the villagers came forth and 
streamed away to their homes; while the Doctor also 
appeared in a sedate and seemly condition of mind, 
and said that he had been privileged to hear a sermon, 
lasting but ten and a half minutes, full of pith and 
point, from a gray-headed and benevolent divine, 
whose solid sense and knowledge of the wants of his 
flock would have amply justified him in preaching 
at greater length. 


FOLLY AND FKESH AIK. 


155 


CHAPTER X. 

WILLIAM — IIIS AMBITIONS — IIIS ENTHUSIASM — HIS THIRST 
FOR BOTANICAL KNOWLEDGE — HIS ABNORMAL APPETITE 
FOR THE BLACKBERRY — SLEEP AND SUNSHINE — RUSTICS 
— THE DANGER OF PRACTICAL JOKING — INSTANCES THERE- 
OF — PHOTOGRAPHY — A PLEA FOR TOLERANCE. 

That afternoon a young theatrical friend of mine, 
who was playing at Plymouth, came out to see us. 
Business, he declared, had been poor owing to the 
prevalent tropic weather. He much desired that we 
should come and see him act one evening in the 
week. He was doing a pathetic part of a terribly 
ill-used octogenarian, and had been w r ell spoken 
about by the local press. William is a pleasing fel- 
low, full of ambition and ability. He revels in the 
study of human nature, and keeps his eyes wide 
open for bits of character. He is at that age when 
the value of selection has not yet impressed itself 
upon the judgment. He gathers up everything in- 
discriminately, bubbles over with splendid new ideas 
and theories concerning his art. Some of these no- 
tions are really great, some impracticable, some quite 
revolutionary, all refreshing. I am to write a rather 
striking part for him in the future. It will embrace 
every passion man has yet felt, together with one or 
two new ones, naturally produced by quite novel 


156 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


circumstances. When this considerable work sees 
the footlights, the jaded theatre-goer shall find a new 
flavor upon his palate. Whether he will aj>prove the 
entertainment, or even sit it out, is a question only 
to be answered in days to come. 

After lunch we wandered along the river’s banks, 
the Doctor bearing his camera with him. William 
was enraptured with the stream, and saw typical 
“sets” or scenic pictures for the stage at every turn. 
He declared that an Open Air Company of Pastoral 
Players would make a fortune if they acted “ As 
You Like It” here, or “A Midsummer Night’s 
Dream.” The Doctor doubted this. He said that, 
artistically, such a performance must be without 
question triumphant; but art keeps more men poor 
than it renders rich, and in this case he ventured to 
bet that financially any such undertaking would 
miserably fail. William answered that all civilized 
Devonshire ought to support the enterprise ; to 
which my brother coldly replied that all civilized 
Devonshire might possibly have something better 
to do. 

Then, upon the young histrion’s earnest entreaty, 
the Doctor brought his camera into action and photo- 
graphed a fine glimpse of sunshine and shadow and 
foliage, dipping over foaming ripples, with a bend 
of dark, still water beyond. 

How that dear boy did glory in the flora, to be 
sure! Not content with beholding and touching and 
smelling, he must needs begin tasting every nut and 
berry within reach. He had eaten a good luncheon, 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


157 


there was no excuse for it, but he behaved as if the 
wild fruits of the earth were his ordinary diet. The 
Doctor checked him on the verge of a mad experi- 
ment with some black bryony, and gave him a word 
of sound advice against attractive -looking dessert 
spread about a plant of deadly nightshade. I pointed 
out such hazel-nuts as, by the red blush upon them, 
should be expected to contain kernels, and also men- 
tioned that the whorleberry might suit his fancy, or 
the acid leaves of wood-sorrel. But where William 
lost all control over himself was in the matter of 
blackberries. His delight at their flavor appeared 
so extreme that my brother again felt called upon 
to warn him. He said : 

“ You would scarcely imagine it, but there exist 
certain latent forces in the unripe blackberry, certain 
subtle properties, which tend to produce within the 
human frame sensations of acute discomfort. A 
dozen may be eaten with impunity, or even more, 
but if I mistake not you have already partaken of 
about three hundred, which quantity acting in har- 
mony (from their point of view) may produce a con- 
dition of utter discord (from yours). A man owes 
much to his digestion, and to repay the debt with 
blackberries is almost immoral.” 

William was alarmed, for the Doctor says this 
kind of thing with a professional gravity which is 
very apt to frighten people. 

“ What would you suggest ?” he inquired. 

“I should suggest,”answered the prophet of gloom, 
“ that you eat no more of anything for the present.” 


158 


FOLLY AND FEESH AIE. 


We sat down on the grass by the brink of the 
stream and smoked. We began with upright atti- 
tudes and brisk conversation and the foolish flinging 
of pieces of stick about ; but the pose of each grad- 
ually grew more and more recumbent, the stick- 
flinging wholly ceased, the conversation died down 
to nothing. We tried to make believe that we all 
had our wits about us and were not in the least 
drowsy, but simply thinking important thoughts for 
the production of which silence was necessary. W e 
propped ourselves on our arms and asked one another 
noisily for lights, saying that it appeared an odd 
thing why the tobacco kept going out. This farce 
came to a sudden end by the Doctor, who, to do him 
justice, hates all shams, succumbing bodily. He ex- 
tended himself flat on his back, saying that he was 
going to sleep and did not care who knew it. He 
then produced a crimson silk handkerchief which, 
had there been any savage cattle in the meadow, 
might have destroyed us all ; wrapped his head up 
in it, sighed, and became unconscious. Sleep also 
overtook me in the very act of apologizing to Will- 
iam for my brother’s rudeness ; but any such civility 
upon my part must have been futile, for, on compar- 
ing notes after awakening, we found beyond ques- 
tion that our visitor had been the first to slumber. 
There we lay, in a silent row, while the photographic 
apparatus, with its grasshopper legs, kept watch and 
ward. 

What a remarkable phenomenon this Sunday af- 
ternoon nap is in England! I have often thought 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


159 


of investigating it and ascertaining what particular 
social classes it attacks, or whether it obtains gener- 
ally throughout society. Personally I incline to a 
belief that the thing is produced by some sort of 
bacillus which can only live in the peculiarly stag- 
nant atmosphere of the English Day of Rest. I 
shall ask the Doctor what this theory is worth. 

We were roused from our nap in about an hour’s 
time by the rustic laughter of boys. Five of them 
stood before us, all in an extreme state of merri- 
ment. William regained an erect posture first, and 
offered to feign madness, and so terrify the boys 
and lead them to fly. But I begged him to do no 
such thing. Though the lads in question seemed 
sufficiently stolid to gaze unmoved at any dramatic 
display of the kind he mentioned, yet their nerves 
are probably weak, in which case it might happen 
that all would go into fits upon the spot. This must 
not only make us appear brutal and cowardly, but 
lead to actions at law and painful interviews with 
parents. 

Our talk thereupon set in the direction of practi- 
cal joking generally, and w T e agreed that this form 
of humor was altogether debased and abominable. 
The Doctor, whose repose had brightened him up 
wonderfully, told us a story of a mean and atrocious 
practical joke wffiich he asserted had come within 
his own experience. He said : 

“ There was a religious station-master I once 
knew, named Jinks. He lorded it over a little 
junction on the South Eastern Railway, down in 


160 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


Kent, and did immense good, converting dozens of 
engine-drivers and guards, and even bringing a di- 
rector or two to see their faults. This energetic 
man had a strip of garden which ran along near the 
main line, and he used it to advertise moral truths, 
so that intelligent passengers might read and be- 
come improved as they rolled by. In the early part 
of the year we always looked for virtuous maxims 
from that garden, and were never disappointed. A 
certain April, I recollect, we had 4 Love one another ’ 
worked out in early vegetables of some kind ; while 
the following year he arranged ‘ Watch and Pray’ 
in spring onions, and very beautiful and affecting it 
was. I often thought that if men lost their trains 
and stamped profanely about the platform as they 
do on such occasions, how it -would have soothed 
them and comforted them and cooled them dow r n 
to see these simple truths growing there. But, of 
course, no one ever does miss a train on the South 
Eastern. If one reaches a station upon that line, 
and learns that a collection of cattle trucks or what 
not has passed recently, one walks down the line 
after it and is sure to overtake the thing pretty 
soon. To return, Jinks told me in confidence one 
winter that he proposed surprising all former efforts 
with his garden during the coming spring season. 
He was going, he said, to mark out the everlasting 
glorious fact that ‘ God is Love ’ in mighty letters, 
involving the whole of the land at his disposal. I 
praised the scheme warmly, and declared the idea 
was worthy of him. 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


161 


“ The time of early salads arrived, and every eye 
was daily turned to the bank where Jinks made his 
annual effort. Presently from the dark earth began 
to sprout young pale leaves, destined, as I supposed, 
to fashion their Maker’s name ; but day followed 
day, and the legend grew and grew, and in no man- 
ner suggested what I and others in the secret had 
been led to expect. Finally a dastard deed blazed 
forth. Instead of the words supposed to have been 
planted rising in mustard and cress, another asser- 
tion burst out in horseradish ; and it was : 

‘Jinks is a Idiot.’ 

“The especial malice of the act lay in the crop 
selected, for by the time Jinks realized what had 
grown out of his land and set to work madly to grub 
it up, the horseradish had secured a grip of the soil 
which earthquakes would scarcely have unsettled. 
He did all he could ; he pretended to laugh at it, and 
kept telling people he had forgotten it; he ploughed 
the garden and planted it with potatoes in rows, but 
all to no purpose. Every succeeding spring saw 
that infernal horseradish struggle up again, scream- 
ing out, as it were, that Jinks was an idiot. His 
heart broke at last, and he took his life. He wan- 
dered down the line one day when an express train 
was expected. He got out of sight in a cutting, and 
laid his head upon the metals and waited patiently, 
and ultimately starved to death there. That shows 
you what a world of misery may be produced by 
thoughtless practical jokes.” 

11 


162 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


We admitted it was as sad a story as ever we had 
heard, but yet seemed to lack something which pre- 
vented it going to the heart’s core as it should. 
We rather thought the element of truth was miss- 
ing from it. 

Then William gave an example. He told a tale 
of a man who went out at one o’clock in the morn- 
ing with a friend and a piece of string. He ran the 
string down one side of a street, and his friend con- 
nected it with two hundred consecutive door-knock- 
ers. Then the friend and the man each took an end 
of their string, and, by a rapid and skilful move- 
ment, sounded two hundred door-knockers simulta- 
neously. After which, leaving the string to carry on 
the fun alone, the friend and the man went across 
the road and looked on. About one hundred people 
opened their windows, the other hundred came down 
and opened their doors. Every door that opened, 
of course, sounded the knockers bn the adjacent 
doors ; so, presently, there were two hundred doors 
opening and shutting, and lights flashing, and quaint 
nocturnal garments fluttering all down the street. 
The fun was at its height when a policeman saw the 
string in the very act of sounding a door-knocker. 
Then the unfortunate string was chopped into mince- 
meat, and the friend and the man went sniggering 
home, and quiet once more fell upon that district. 

This narrative appeared perhaps more credible 
than the Doctor’s, but I felt it had been left to me 
to tell a true story free of all exaggeration. I there- 
fore entered upon the authentic history of a practi- 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


163 


cal joke once applied to myself, and was about to 
reach the horrid climax of it when the Doctor inter- 
rupted me. The light, he said, was just now perfect 
for an effect he had long desired to perpetuate as 
far as possible in a photograph. He grasped his ap- 
paratus and hastened to the river. As soon as the 
small boys, who were still prowling around us, saw 
that a picture w r as to be taken, they one and all de- 
termined to be in it. The Doctor was equally re- 
solved that they should not be, and a grim battle 
began. Wherever the camera was pointed, there 
were the boys in front of it. The view to be photo- 
graphed was a little artificial weir under alder- trees, 
and w f hen the boys saw my brother get down onto 
a ledge of shingle below the fall, they instantly di- 
vined his point of attack. Even this did not calm 
their wild desire to be immortalized. They pulled 
up their trousers over their knees and, wading in, 
stood all along the top of the weir. It w T as both rude 
and inartistic of them, but they appeared to have 
carried their point at last. To dislodge them with- 
out violence seemed impossible. The Doctor, how- 
ever, proved equal to the occasion. 

“ Do you lads want to be photographed?” he asked, 
cheerily, as if he had only just noticed them. 

The lads replied that they fully intended it. 

“Then it’s no good standing there in a row. 
Come out onto the land. This is the place for you, 
under the trees.” 

Thus the wily Doctor lured those unsuspecting 
youths away into the obscurity of some foliage, and 


164 


FOLLY AND FEESH AIE. 


there carefully grouped them and bid them be still 
and look pleasant if they loved him. They sat, mo- 
tionless as statues, with fine, extensive grins upon 
their faces ; and the Doctor photographed the weir. 

“ That’s all right,” he declared, pleasantly, when 
the deed was done. “ Thank you, boys, I’m much 
obliged to you.” 

He gave them a shilling, and the delighted boys 
went on their way, fully persuaded they were figur- 
ing together somewhere within the Doctor’s myste- 
rious machine. They had no wish to see the pict- 
ure ; all they cared about was that they formed part 
of it, and would, therefore, be put in albums and be- 
held and admired by the world at large. 

We returned presently to our cottage, with hope 
that some light refreshment of tea might be already 
awaiting us ; but there was no immediate tea. These 
disappointments are not strange here. Our landlady 
has alternate paroxysms of cleanliness and godliness 
at untoward times. The cleanliness interferes with 
our privacy, and the godliness generally crops up 
when we want something to eat. Sunday, we had 
observed, from earliest dawn, was a particularly so- 
ber and sombre affair with her. Rest formed no 
part of her Sabbath. Her spiritual labors were, in 
fact, sustained and tremendous ; and her husband 
had to participate in everything, though I honestly 
think he would rather have been shunting than 
spending the day she mapped out for him. After 
breakfast he was led forth to a little tin place of 
worship by the river, where some five-and-twenty 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


165 


individuals, guided by the man who keeps the pocket 
Whiteley’s, have been fortunate enough to find the 
only true and certain road which leads upward. 

We laugh sometimes at these intolerant little 
sects, but are we right or wise ? Devout believers 
must be more or less self-satisfied. It is the nature 
of absolute trust in a creed to make them so. The 
fault lies not in saying and crying on the house-tops 
that you are right, but in declaring all others the re- 
verse. Shall we assert that to us alone is vouchsafed 
the golden key ? that all are wrong save those with- 
in our own particular fold ? Or, with greater heart 
and truer charity, shall we declare all may be right ? 
affirm, in a spirit of universal tolerance, that the 
“ larger hope” can be refused to none? Give the 
narrow-minded some credit for honest purpose ; the 
bigot some sympathy for earnest conviction ; be 
sparing of censure, eager to see beauty in all that 
makes towards right. Religion came from God to 
man ; Theology man invented for himself, finding 
it to be absolutely necessary. Religion is a flame 
divine ; Theology, man’s receptacle for it. Grudge 
the Light to no fellow-creature because you dislike 
his candlestick. Let them be beautiful or barbarous, 
simple and severe, or lavishly ornate, the candle- 
sticks will hardly last forever. God knows wffien 
His creation of mankind shall become ripe for an ab- 
stract faith ; when knowledge and mental condi- 
tions, as yet in the misty future, shall beget a re- 
ligion with ritual of good deeds, altars hidden in the 
heart, worship in action reflected through daily life, 


166 


FOLLY AND FEESH AIE. 


and one universal temple whose dome is heaven, 
whose aisles and transepts are the kingdoms of earth. 

And, further, the day being Sunday, I ask no par- 
don for saying that Comparative Theology is a no- 
ble study, tending to give breadth to the narrow, 
charity to the bitter; revealing the gigantic archi- 
tecture of religious progress, whose ponderous roots 
are buried in the primitive ages of earliest man, 
whose present steeples and minarets alike point up- 
ward, rising through the centuries towards crown- 
ing glories still hidden by mundane clouds. Say not 
that the world is old. It is young, and still has 
much of sweetness and freshness in it. Let other 
planets mourn their hoary past. Man, viewed from 
Time’s stand-point, is yet an infant, with all an in- 
fant’s' powers of development. Like the coral insect 
we build, performing each his own task, extending 
each his own environment, as circumstances and taste 
dictate ; but the result, the ultimate force of all this 
labor, we who produce can in no way estimate. The 
work and its tendencies needs an All-seeing Eye to 
judge it. As man, therefore, gazes upon palm- 
crowned reefs of coral, and thinks, not without kind- 
ness and admiration, of the myriad insect lives which 
have gone to produce them, so man’s Creator may 
be conceived as looking not unkindly upon His busy 
creatures, all unconsciously carrying out the Supreme 
Will, all unconsciously toiling upward, by paths di- 
verse to peaks remote. 

Tea being ended, we strolled a couple of miles to 
a mill-wheel that stands outlined against the sky on 


FOLLY AND FKESH AIK. 


167 


a liill behind Tavybridge. This wheel proved an 
exceedingly vast concern built of wood, and crown- 
ing a mountain, steep, lofty, and desolate, with na- 
ked sides of shivered, slaty debris, that threatened 
to encroach upon the meadows below. None of us 
were informed as to the nature of the works. The 
Doctor believed they had to do with a mine, and 
William rather thought not, but could suggest noth- 
ing better. Across the valley, in its broadest part, 
tremendous shadows were now lengthening from 
the cloudless sunset. Upon the distant hills wound 
the railway, and it was interesting to note how a 
viaduct, not beautiful in itself, became so as a vehi- 
cle for the broad play of glowing western light 
against a background of forest in shade. The sight 
of a locomotive travelling this bright band of color, 
and sending up rolls of golden smoke, made Will- 
iam look at his watch. We found the hour grew 
late, and so presently saw him off to Plymouth, 
wishing his company of players a prosperous tour, 
but declining to make any definite promise about 
witnessing the octogenarian. 

So much for a Sunday on Dartmoor. To-morrow, 
though we knew it not, events of the utmost future 
significance were in store for us. New personages 
were shortly to come into the narrative of our lives, 
remarkable concerns were already shaping from 
causes altogether contemptible ; which fact I men- 
tion, reader, in order that you, who, it is to be as- 
sumed, are growing somewhat weary of the Doctor 
and myself, may take courage to proceed. 


168 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


CHAPTER XI. 

TWO EPISTLES — A THUNDERBOLT — ARGUMENTS FOR AND 
AGAINST GENERAL LYNN’S INVITATION — UNIQUE ADVENT- 
URE WITH A LUNATIC — MOMENTS OF UNIVERSAL MAD- 
NESS — THE LOCAL FISHER— I MAKE A TROUT-FLY — IT DE- 
CEIVES THE DOCTOR — AND CAUSES A FISH TO FAINT — 
TRUTH STILL THE GUIDING STAR — CHILDHOOD’S UNHAPPY 
MEMORIES — BATS. 

Two letters were waiting for me on tlie breakfast- 
table next morning. One came from an aunt ; the 
other was directed in a strange hand, and proved to 
be an astounding communication. My feelings may 
be dimly guessed at when the writer’s name is read. 
Thus ran the note : 


“Bracken Tor, Hartford, 

“ Dartmoor. 

“Dear Sir, — Your recent meeting with me will 
be fresh in your memory. You ate my lunch, there- 
by causing me to nearly lose my temper — a thing 
no man should permit himself. I regret any seem- 
ing harshness upon my part. If you are still at the 
place to which I direct this, and have nothing bet- 
ter to do next Tuesday, it will give me pleasure to 
see you here. Lawn - tennis, tea in a tent, and so 
forth — the usual garden-party entertainment. Are 
you related to , of ? I knew him in India. 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


169 


Don’t let the fact of your not being any relation 
prevent you from coming if you feel disposed to. 

“ Faithfully yours, 

“ Maxwell F. Lynn, 

“ Genl .” 

I confess I was shocked to think what I had done. 
I had taken food out of the mouth of the most cel- 
ebrated angler on Dartmoor. I had been insolent to 
a person who could catch salmon ; I had even criti- 
cised his behavior ; but now, with nobility of char- 
acter fitting his reputation as a sportsman, he ig- 
nored the horrible past, and invited me to play 
lawn-tennis and drink tea. 

The Doctor took the affair up in a fashion that 
rather surprised me. He read the letter, and then 
said : 

“ Good, by Jove ! This is a piece of luck ! We’ll 
go.” 

“What d’you mean by ‘we?’” I inquired. 

“Why, you and I, of course. We can’t take the 
landlady, can we ?” 

“The question is, can I take you?” I answered. 

He looked pained and astounded. He said : 

“ I shall certainly go. I have had a particular de- 
sire to meet the Lynns ; and I’m the only one of us 
who has got a lawn-tennis racket here. Yes ; I shall 
certainly go. They wrote in this kind way because 
they supposed you were alone and desolate. Had 
they known of me, I should most undoubtedly have 
been asked also ; and I repeat that I shall go.” 


170 


FOLLY AND FKESH AIK. 


Now, it struck me there was something behind 
this remark. The Doctor is not wont to be bluster- 
ing and intrusive. I have never heard that he at- 
tends uninvited at parties. Such a course of action 
would be unseemly, and unworthy of any profession- 
al man. He proceeded in a defiant way : 

“We might drive out, if there’s a decent dog-cart 
in Tavy bridge. I wonder whether Miss Lucy Lynn 
plays lawn-tennis?” 

I did not like the turn things were taking at all. 
I knew what the Doctor was on a lawn - tennis 
ground. He understands the game, and criticises it 
in a frank, free spirit that many men do not care 
about at all. He is always ready to take advice 
himself, and does not, therefore, grasp the fact that 
other people are often very averse to it. He would 
be quite likely to tell even Miss Lynn that she was 
not exactly playing the game, if he thought she was 
not. No ; I candidly disliked the outlook. I wished 
the great Lynn had not written to me. The invita- 
tion might, moreover, be a trap to get me into his 
power, and then work out some fiendish revenge he 
had picked up from Sepoys or Thugs, or low people 
of that sort in the East. 

The Doctor began again : 

“We ought to be there about three o’clock, I 
think ; unless you would rather get over for 
lunch.” 

This allusion to lunch was in the worst of taste. 
I did not answer, but went on with breakfast, wrap- 
ped in thought ; while my brother routed about for 


FOLLY AND FEESH AIR. 


171 


the map, and presently found that Maryford was 
about eight miles off, and that it had a railway sta- 
tion. The Doctor planned everything out, and de- 
clared we should have a grand day if the Lynn peo- 
ple could play and understood how to keep a court, 
and used the best balls. He said, as a sort of after- 
thought : 

“ You’ll come, of course, old chap?” 

I tried sarcasm, though it is a weapon that makes 
no visible impression on my brother. I answered : 

“ Were you really thinking of taking me ? Very 
generous of you, indeed. It is a handsome offer, and 
I’m flattered by it. I think the better of you for 
having made it. I will come, if you candidly believe 
I shall bring no disgrace upon you by doing so. Jok- 
ing apart,” I continued, “ we will go together if you 
like, but I am bound to tell you that General Lynn 
is no ordinary man. He might justly resent your 
coming, and regard you as an interloper, and be rude. 
He can be rude when he likes. On the other hand, 
if I drop him a line, hinting of your existence and 
of your powers in a lawn-tennis direction, he will 
greet you with pleasure, and you will possibly be- 
come the lion of the entertainment, and create a 
furore instead of a fiasco.” 

My brother finally yielded. I wrote, therefore, 
describing the gratification it would give me to play 
lawn -tennis with General Lynn’s party. Then I 
worked in the Doctor dexterously, and presently he 
went out and posted the letter, not caring to trust it 
to other hands. He will have to wait until to-mor- 


172 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


row morning for the result. He declared from the 
first that he did not doubt what it would be. He 
even got out his racket and white buckskin shoes, 
and arranged them ostentatiously in a corner of the 
sitting-room. 

This morning we had proposed fishing a new river, 
but the excitement of my correspondence made us 
forget it. We now changed our plans, and deter- 
mined to angle over the home stream. Concerning 
my second letter from an aunt, a few words only 
need be said. 

I have a splendid collection of aunts. Some are 
married, some are single, some are tall, and some are 
short, but each in her way is a perfect aunt, and in 
their variety rests their charm. I have known other 
men who had very fair collections of aunts ; but they 
could not approach mine, just for this reason: that 
they have been monotonous. You must have light 
and shade with aunts if they are to be a success. 
My letter came from an exceptional aunt ; that rarest 
of all created things, a real altruist, one who abso- 
lutely devotes her life to producing some ray of 
light in other people’s lives. She was passing through 
Devon to Plymouth, and wrote, suggesting that she 
should spend a day with us upon the road. It hap- 
pens that there is a place we have long wanted to 
visit here, where two rivers meet, and where, above 
them, stands the ruins of ancient workings. This 
spot is known as Virtuous Lady Mine — a singularly 
appropriate place to take our good aunt to, and we 
will do so. 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


173 


We presently started to fish, the Doctor going up 
stream to another of his favorite pools, while I pot- 
tered down stream. 

I had not been long at work when the barking of 
a dog attracted my attention. If it is true that timid 
dogs bark the loudest, this particular cur must have 
been nervous to a truly pitiable degree. He pres- 
ently appeared and approached me with evident ani- 
mosity, tempered by caution. He stood and bristled 
and barked at a safe distance, his purpose clearly be- 
ing to attract sufficient aid to overwhelm me. He 
was a yellow dog of mean extraction and paltry ap- 
pearance. A man now joined us, though whether he 
intended siding with the dog or with me I could not 
immediately judge. He looked a plump and pleas- 
ant person, was clad in well-cut gray clothes, and 
carried a stick. I said : 

“ Good-morning. Your dog does not take to me, 
I fear.” 

He replied, smiling : 

“ Very possibly not. Why should he ?” 

“ Oh, for that matter, I don’t want him to,” I an- 
swered; “I cannot say I admire him particularly. 
Still, he has no cause to bark in that fashion and 
growl at me.” 

“He has every cause,” said the gray man, still 
beaming over his glasses. “ The dog is my dog, and 
nobody shall refuse him the right to growl.” 

There seemed an element of strangeness in these 
remarks. I was about to reply when my companion 
spoke again. 


174 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


“You may not know it, but these are my grounds,” 
he said. 

I wanted to be pleasant, so congratulated him upon 
them. I answered: 

“Indeed? Then you are most fortunate ; a very 
lovely meadow and beautiful neighborhood.” 

“True,” he continued ; “but you do not grasp my 
meaning. This land being mine, if you walk about 
on it without my permission you are trespassing.” 

“ I have a license to fish this stream, which I can 
show you if you care to see it,” I said. 

He responded that he should like to see it, and I 
allowed him to do so. He read it through from be- 
ginning to end, and shook his head with a puzzled 
air. 

“ To fish, certainly,” he admitted. “ You are quite 
within your right to fish ; but does it, does it say any- 
thing about walking on my land?” 

“It says, ‘Trespass as little as possible,’” I retorted, 
warmly, for the man kept on smiling like an image, 
and the dog came nearer and nearer. 

“But you couldn’t trespass more if you tried,” he 
continued. 

“ Then what do you suggest ?” I asked, bottling 
my indignation and even working up a grin myself. 

He took his hat off and bowed. He then said : 

“That you pay me a thousand pounds down on 
the nail, absolutely on the nail.” 

After this it was borne in upon me that the poor 
fellow must be insane. He proved himself a lunatic, 
and might be a dangerous one for all I knew. The 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


175 


dog had a touch of it, too, for he now began to snap 
at me. I humored them both. I gave the dog a 
bit of my lunch, and told the man that his demand 
appeared reasonable. The dog instantly became 
servile, and the man bowed to the ground. I said : 

“ I have not the money about me, because you 
never know whom you may meet in this lonely 
country, but I can give you half a crown on ac- 
count, and send a check for the balance.” 

He declared that would suit him exactly, took the 
coin, bit it, and then, bowing again, galloped off, the 
dog after him. 

There were several private reasons against my 
forwarding a draft for the odd money, but he had 
simplified the matter by leaving no address. I shall, 
however, endeavor to obtain further information of 
him in a sane quarter, though not with a view to 
transmitting more capital. 

After this harrowing experience, everything ap- 
peared to have a suggestion of lunacy about it. 
The trout I caught rose madly and looked mad when 
they found who had got them ; the cattle galloped 
madly about ; the water-rats swam and dived mad- 
ly ; the laborers in the fields, cutting barley, were 
working without method ; a leather-clad individual 
in the hedge, with a billhook, appeared to be chop- 
ping down all the wrong things. I began to fear 
for myself. I thought perhaps I might get hydro- 
phobia, because the lunatic’s dog had eaten part of 
my lunch. Anon, I met my brother, and all further 
doubt as to the terrible calamity which had over- 


176 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


taken Nature vanished. The Doctor was hopelessly 
insane — stark mad, in fact. 

He sat beneath a tree, laughing and roaring to 
himself, and eating something that looked like a bar 
of yellow soap. I kept the tree between us, and said : 

“Do you know me? Be calm. It is I, your 
brother.” 

“ You’ve missed a treat,” he said, sighing, and 
quite worn out with his boisterous and uncouth mer- 
riment ; “but the man has only just gone ; we may 
overtake him.” 

He started along the river’s bank, and I followed 
mechanically. Presently we found a little, round- 
shouldered, dwarfish fellow with a long beard. He 
was fishing, and singing to himself stray snatches of 
old country melodies. 

“ Will you show my brother some of those won- 
derful home-made flies of yours?” said the Doctor. 

“ With pleasure, with pleasure,” answered the lit- 
tle man, and, putting down his rod, he got from some 
obscure pocket a strange book made of old news- 
paper. This contained trout-flies which the Doctor’s 
quaint friend had himself manufactured. He proved 
a complete authority on local sport, abounded with 
odd rustic sayings, and showed keen pleasure at ex- 
hibiting the clever work of his hands to us. My 
brother had given him a fly or two as patterns, and 
in return received some infallible specimens, manu- 
factured from live models which the little man had 
himself caught on the water. They had also ex- 
changed lunches, which accounted for the singular 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


177 


meal I found my brother engaged upon. It was 
cheese, not soap, as I at first feared, which the Doc- 
tor had been eating. 

“ Water-rats’ fur be right handsome stuff for fly- 
boclies. Then you gets feathers from the farm- 
yards, and makes any shade to the wings and such 
as j^ou’ve a mind,” explained the artist. “ Now that 
theer’s a proper tied fly, though I sez it — a proper 
tied fly, as true to the natural hinsec as may be. It’s 
my partickler, that is.” 

The little gentleman’s “ partickler” was a rather 
loud fly with a bit of peacock’s feather in it, and I 
mentally determined to try my prentice hand in 
secret at fashioning just such another, and so aston- 
ishing the Doctor and perhaps getting admiration 
from him. I made mental notes of the thing, and 
recollected that there were peacocks’ feathers in 
vases in our sitting-room. As to water-rats’ fur, it 
seemed a. pity to kill a whole rat just for the small 
part of it I should require. No, I rather thought I 
saw a simple way out of that difficulty. Our new 
friend said he would be down again in the dusk of 
evening to try for a peel, so we arranged to meet 
him about seven o’clock and also try for a peel. 
With three goodish fishermen all trying together 
for a peel, the numerical strength of that fish in this 
stream should be reduced. And possibly the fly I 
am going to make will take some peel’s fancy, and 
so reward my labors. It would be a good and pleas- 
ant circumstance to catch a peel on a fly you your- 
self have tied. 

12 


178 


FOLLY AND FKESH AIE. 


The first thing I had to do was to get my brother 
out of the way. This I managed rather cleverly 
after returning for a cup of tea. I said : 

“Would it not be as well to find out at the sta- 
tion about trains to Maryford ?” 

He fell into the trap immediately, and marched 
off to worry the people at the railway, thus leaving 
me free to my task. I began by choosing a big, 
naked hook from my collection. Of these I had 
several, with a view to perhaps using a worm some 
day for the trout, if there chanced to be a flood ; for 
a friend had told me that it was a fine thing to fish 
for trout with a worm in a flood. The hook ready, 
I cut a piece off one of the landlady’s peacock’s 
feathers, and started. Then it became necessary to 
get fur, and the cat being available, this difficulty 
was surmounted exactly as I had foreseen. The 
cat entered the window just about the time I 
wanted him, had a dish of milk, and cleaned his 
claws on the leg of the table. Then he sat down 
and gazed at me without winking, as cats will gaze 
at a man when they are trying to master his char- 
acter. 

It was just the sort of animal for a fly-maker, be- 
ing much variegated in color, with brown patches 
and white. I took my fishing scissors and chipped 
off a tuft or two from the cat, and it purred and 
fussed about, of course not realizing what I was do- 
ing. Then, as ill-luck would have it, our landlady 
came in to clear away the tea-things. I admit it 
looked strange and undesirable at first sight, to see 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


179 


a grown man sitting on the floor cutting bits off a 
cat ; but there was no occasion for such a volcanic 
outburst as I now suffered from Mrs. Vallack. Had 
I been brutally vivisecting the cat, she could not 
have showed greater severity. I tried to pass it off 
with a jest, but she was too vexed to appreciate the 
fun of the situation. She said I couldn’t keep my 
hands off a single thing in the house. She implied 
that I was making her life a burden to her. She 
finally picked up the astounded cat by his neck and 
bounced out of the room. I own I was annoyed 
with the woman. I had intended to tell her all 
about the peacock’s feather, and even buy it out- 
right if there was any unpleasantness. But now I 
determined to say nothing, nor should I offer any 
apology for my conduct to the cat. “ Hang it all, 
I’m down here for pleasure,” I said to myself; and 
then went on making the fly. 

The insect began to grow under my hands. It 
had rather a tropical look, I fancied; one would have 
naturally expected to see such an affair buzzing 
about in the neighborhood of the Equator, but it 
appeared out of place at home. It might, I thought, 
after further struggles with it, be now easily mis- 
taken for a caterpillar with wings. This was not 
true to nature, and the trout would know it. Cat’s 
fur is very difficult to work with. I needed a fur- 
ther supply, but dared not ask for the cat. One 
thing I knew — there was no other local cat that 
matched ours. Then I added a trifle more feather, 
and the fly began to grow life-like, with a fantastic, 


180 


FOLLY AND FKESH AIE. 


unearthly animation all its own. I felt as Frank- 
enstein perhaps felt ; I half expected to see the 
thing rise up and hum round the room and bang 
against the window. A wasp noticed it, and fell 
off the table in her hurry to get away. Now this I 
regarded as a perfect test. I had evidently imitated 
a real insect so exactly that other flies feared it and 
hastened to escape from it. 

I put the finished creation on the mantel-piece as 
the Doctor returned. Presently his eye fell upon 
it, and he said: 

“ Good heavens ! What’s that ?” 

Then he picked up a book and crept forward with 
a view of smashing it. My triumph was complete ; 
my work had deceived man ! 

“ Stay your hand !” I cried, and picked it up and 
showed it to him. “ Alone I did it,” I declared, 
with quiet pride. 

“ You made this ?” he asked, examining it. 

“ Every atom of it,” I told him. 

“ Why ?” he said. 

This is another of his idiotic questions. I cooled 
down in a moment. 

“ Why are artificial flies made ?” I inquired. 

“ But you don’t mean to assert you are going to 
fish with this?” he murmured, looking first at me 
and then at my handiwork. 

“I certainly am,” I replied, calmly. 

He thought about the matter for some time be- 
fore speaking again. Then he said : 

“ What d’you call it ?” 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


181 


I pretended not to hear him, and, seeing he had 
me in difficulties, he repeated the question. 

“ As to naming it,” I answered at length, “ I have 
not yet thought of that. It will probably become a 
classic fly, without which no fisherman’s outfit would 
be considered complete. I shall very likely call it 
after myself.” 

•He reflected again with his hand held up to the 
side of his head. After a pause, he observed: 

“ It would look very well on a Christmas-tree, but 
absurd anywhere else.” 

Then I left the house, and took 'out the fly to pit 
it against peel or anything that swam. And here 
it will be better to confess at once the thing was 
not a success at all. One trout saw it, and, I think, 
fainted, for it sank like a stone. Then the local 
angler came along and examined it and looked at 
me, and I felt that the look meant we should never 
be true friends again. 

“ My stars!” he said, " wonnerful fly, sure enough.” 

Then we fished about for peel in such places as 
he considered might harbor them. He told many 
remarkable stories on peel catching, more, I suspect, 
to keep our spirits up than because the stories in 
themselves possessed any truth or value. It ap- 
pears hard in discoursing of great adventures to 
help adding a little color sometimes. I have de- 
nied myself so far, and kept well within the bounds 
of human experience and common-sense, but the 
struggle is perpetual. I find it necessary to watch 
my pen narrowly, and even occasionally to make it 


182 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


run out that which it has written down. This at- 
tempt to circumvent peel, for instance, might easily 
be managed so as to read very differently. Had I 
caused the Doctor to catch a peel, or our companion 
to kill a big one, or even myself to secure a couple 
of small fish, you would have been quite disposed 
to believe it. But no, I take my stand on bald 
veracity; and, as the first angler that ever did such 
a thing, may reasonably hojie that some day a statue 
shall be raised depicting me in the aforesaid posi- 
tion. We did not catch a peel or anything at all. 
The little man failed to understand it ; he affected 
to be grievously disappointed and surprised ; but I 
don’t fancy he felt very deeply about it in his heart, 
and he was delighted when we said we were going 
to stop fishing, and invited him in to supper. 

On the way home our friend said that he had 
often a mind to try bats’ wool in the making of 
flies, and this chance remark raised in me a strange 
and bitter memory connected with the animals al- 
luded to. I keenly dislike them, and for this reason : 
As a child I was once promised that if my behavior 
through a certain long day in the month of June 
was good enough to justify such a blissful reward, 
I should be allowed to sit up when other infants 
slept, and see bats. I was noted in youth for addic- 
tion to extreme rules of conduct, being astonishingly 
good at times and exceptionally bad at others. The 
above offer, however, appeared worthy of acceptance, 
and I set out to lower every previous record in the 
direction of goodness. For sustained virtue that 


FOLLY AND FRESII AIR. 


183 


day of my life stands alone. I never did anything 
like it again. I look back now and puzzle over it, 
and almost wish I had died then, and so left a hap- 
py certainty to my relations about my future. I 
spent the morning in the bosom of my family. I 
said kind things to my little sister and gave my 
brothers information concerning heaven, which may 
or may not have served them in after-life, but was 
well meant. I ate my dinner without a word of 
criticism, though boiled rice-puddings were a sort 
of refreshment I generally censured. I ate it, and 
said I liked it because it was so good for me. In 
the afternoon we went out walking, and I avoided 
mud and stones and other boys, and all the things 
that, as a rule, made exercise agreeable. I kept my 
shoes clean, and marched along by the nurse, and 
improved her mind. She said: 

“ Oh, you dear, good boy! Why can’t you always 
behave like this?” 

I explained that would be out of the question. I 
told her the strain was fearful, and, even as mat- 
ters stood, I doubted if I should be able to hold out. 
Then she gave me a merciful temporary dispensa- 
tion to climb over a fence and chase sheep. Thus 
refreshed, I went home to tea. My brothers regard- 
ed me with awe. The Doctor, though of tender years 
at that time — he had seen but four summers — tempt- 
ed me. He pointed out that our kind nurse had left 
her umbrella on the window-sill. He furthermore 
explained that though his limited stature prevented 
any active measure on his part, yet to a man of my 


184 


FOLLY AND FEESH AIE. 


inches nothing would be easier than securing the 
thing and secreting it for private purposes. I told 
him it was wrong to covet property that belonged 
to another, and left him swarming up the leg of a 
chair for the umbrella, quite unconvinced. Nemesis, 
however, had an eye upon him. In his moment of 
triumph the Doctor was captured by the enemy and 
slapped pretty hard. 

At length came my hour for retiring — 6.30 p.m. 
or thereabouts ; and the question was raised as to a 
reward. All admitted that if ever a lad with the 
taint of Old Adam strong in him had qualified for 
seeing bats, I was that lad. My mother went fur- 
ther. She said that for mere fitness I might that 
evening have justly beheld anything which flew, in- 
cluding angels ; and she would have gone out of her 
way to collect an angel or two for me if she had 
known where to put her hand on them. 

So, amid universal congratulations and approval, 
I was led out to see bats. The June twilight shone 
clear and beautiful, a single star glimmered in the 
j)ale sky, everything was simply ripe for bats. They 
bid me to gaze aloft and feast my eyes on the sight. 

I have had many disappointments and troubles 
and sorrows. Upon some I look back with pain, 
upon others with indifference, but for sheer unadul- 
terated misery and crushing despair that first ex- 
perience of bats still remains unapproached. It was 
such an early time of life to begin shattering ideals. 

I had expected to see the fields and trees black 
with stupendous monsters, half kangaroo and half 


FOLLY AND FKESH AIK. 


185 


vulture ; I had supposed that these terrible concerns 
habitually made night hideous, fighting among them- 
selves, if nobody else was about, and glorying in hu- 
man blood whenever the opportunity for a sip of it 
offered. Instead of such a noble scene as this, cer- 
tain wretched specks, high in air, were pointed out 
to me, and I was invited to believe that they were 
bats. This I refused to do point-blank. A picture 
of a real bat adorned my Child's Natural History. 
I knew all about bats and their habits. I had it in 
print, many of the words describing the matter be- 
ing two syllables long. I said that the things were 
not bats, or anything approaching bats. I defied my 
family to prove they were. Of course they couldn’t 
prove it. I asked how bats were going to get hu- 
man gore up there. If they had been right bats, we 
should have seen them hopping about among the 
flower-beds or lurking behind tree-stems, or perhaps 
tearing the gardener to pieces. In any case their 
size proclaimed them a base deception. As to their 
shrill methods of utterance, I saw nothing worthy of 
admiration in it ; I had done the same, on a bigger 
scale, with slate-pencils, any time this two years. 

Then I began to “ cut up rough,” as the saying is. 
I felt a long day of exceptional goodness had been 
simply pitched to the dogs. My bad language at 
that period lacked pith and variety, but such as it 
was I let them have it. It is difficult to insult a 
person who is undressing you and putting you to 
bed, but I did my best. Children are such simple, 
narrow-minded things. I should have been just as 


186 


FOLLY AND FEESH AIE. 


much annoyed, and shown it just as plainly, if they 
had really exhibited angels instead of bats, and the 
celestial ones had not come up to my standard of 
perfection, as represented by certain illustrated pray- 
ers I was in the habit of praying in those days. The 
following morning, I remember, I rose at dawn, and 
gave such a specimen of my powers on the broad, 
downward path, that the affair nearly ended in my 
being sent to a reformatory. 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


187 


CHAPTER XII. 

OFF TO BRACKEN TOR — LAWN-TENNIS PLAYERS— THE GENER- 
AL BEARS NO MALICE — LUCY LYNN— SELF-CONSCIOUS PEO- 
PLE — THE EXPONENT — A MATCH — “MIXED DOUBLES” — 
THE GENERAL IN A “ FOUR ” — FUTURE PLANS— CRITICISM 
— THE DOCTOR MEDITATES A POEM, AND GROWS MOROSE- 
AUNT SOPHIA. 

The first post next day brought a communication 
from General Lynn. He said the Doctor might 
certainly come, and would have an opportunity of 
showing his skill, as the best player in the neighbor- 
hood was going to be there. My brother absolutely 
chuckled with delight when he heard this. He pre- 
tended a sort of diffidence, and feared the man he 
was to meet would probably smash him, but I could 
see that his private opinion inclined in another di- 
rection altogether. He began to talk as though he 
had known the Lynns all his life, and wondered if 
they would care for him to go over early and roll 
their courts, and be useful generally. I checked him 
here. I pointed out that only tried old friends of the 
family had any right to offer their assistance in such 
a matter, and I added that it was conceivable that 
General Lynn kept attendants, who would possibly 
resent any interference with their duties. He yield- 
ed reluctantly, and we finally started together at an 
hour which was reasonable. 


188 


FOLLY AND FEESH AIE. 


Concerning lawn -tennis much yet remains to be 
written — I mean upon the philosophic aspect of the 
game. When you see young sun-tanned men, with 
tawny mustaches and rather haughty bearing, strid- 
ing majestically about at tournaments, a sense of awe 
and admiration is apt to creep over you. You will 
find that these young fellows are generally in the 
enjoyment of splendid health and a private income, 
that their time is devoted in great measure to this 
their favorite sport, that they form a distinct coterie 
or society of their own. They are all, or nearly all, 
good sportsmen, but they don’t look very far ahead; 
they don’t waste much valuable time thinking at 
this stage of their lives ; their ambitions are mainly 
limited to the achievement of great deeds over a 
net, between lines of white chalk. For myself, I 
greatly admire this sort of men : they are so very 
English. To hear them discussing lawn-tennis poli- 
tics, as though the future welfare of the State de- 
pended on some coming match, is refreshing. But 
why should the game produce such inordinate vanity 
in its champions? I know of no other sport where- 
in exceptional cleverness is so surely followed by ex- 
ceptional conceit. Do first-rate lawn-tennis players 
really, by the possession of such skill, become mem- 
bers of a superior order of creation to ordinary men ? 
Or are they mistaken in assuming that they do ? Is 
it the adulation of feminine friends that makes them 
so uppish ? Or the servile behavior of tournament 
promoters ? Or the continual winning of silver cups 
and travelling-bags and dessert services and marble 


FOLLY AND FEESH AIR. 


189 


clocks ? Let them, if I may presume to advise, take 
example from bishops and other such individuals, 
who, while quite as justly celebrated as themselves, 
though in less important walks of life, yet manage 
to preserve an element of modesty in their demean- 
or, and admit frankly, if questioned, that they are 
merely men after all, not miracles. 

At Maryford a trap was waiting to convey us 
and our bags to Bracken Tor. A gleam of white 
dresses and red parasols, and the thud, thud of lawn- 
tennis balls on rackets attracted our eyes and ears 
as we drew up before a handsome house, approached 
by a noble avenue of beeches. The entertainment, 
whereof we thus saw stray peeps, was separated 
from us by a shrubbery. General Lynn himself 
hastened to greet us. He wore lawn-tennis gar- 
ments and an Indian helmet of some sort. He was 
beaming and affable to a degree I dared not have 
expected. I scarcely recognized in him the man 
who had spoken so strongly and so wrongly to me 
only a few short days before. 

Then came the great event of the Doctor’s life- 
time : his introduction to Miss Lucy Lynn. I was 
introduced first, as a matter of fact, but it was noth- 
ing of an event from my point of view, while from 
the Doctor’s it transcended all his most splendid 
previous experiences put together. 

\Note . — From this time I shall have to be partic- 
ularly careful and guarded in the continuation of 
my narrative. Should my free and open nature ap- 
pear to change, should I avoid certain topics, or use 


190 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


exaggerated language when describing ONE, judge 
me not too hardly. Remember the Doctor’s eye is 
ever upon me ; remember that, from his point of 
view, this work henceforth contains but a single 
character, for whom I may indeed fashion such 
varying backgrounds and situations and scenery as 
I will, but who must, from this page forward, usurp 
all pride of place.] 

How to describe the dear girl under these circum- 
stances I do not exactly know. Let it suffice that 
Miss Lynn was a budding and beautiful blonde. 
Her eyes were very blue, her lips were red, her 
cheeks were pink with exertion ; her dress was pure 
white, and rather short over the ankle. She was ex- 
tremely pretty. Her little lawn-tennis shoes were 
also pretty. I liked her, I could quite understand 
anybody loving her. I had not the smallest doubt 
that people did love her. She bowed and said she 
hoped we had come to show them all about lawn- 
tennis. The Doctor thought this was satire, and 
told me so while we were getting into the costume 
proper to the sport. I thought not. 

I said : 

“ There is no guile in that sweet young thing.” 

He applauded me, and declared I must be right. 
He blamed himself for doubting her simplicity. He 
was absurdly particular about parting his hair and 
brushing it down over one eye, which produces a 
distinguished and intellectual effect in him. Then 
I conducted him out to the party. We were noisily 
welcomed by no less persons than the boy Blank 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


191 


and bis friend Jones. They bad on little chimney- 
pot hats and Eton jackets, with white collars folded 
down over them. Thus apparelled, they looked 
more imposing than on our first meeting. 

Master Blank’s amusement centred in fielding the 
lawn-tennis balls, but his friend fluttered round the 
tent where ices and divers delicacies were being dis- 
pensed. Here, under a mantle of extreme polite- 
ness in the matter of fetching and carrying, he was 
doing well for himself. Artistically, the garden, 
with its beautiful lawn and trees, with its bunting 
and snowy tent, its bright flower-beds, and its com- 
pany scarcely less bright, was a feast to the eye. 
The forest shelved slowly upward on three sides of 
us, and though we stood on high ground, yet neigh- 
boring tors made us appear in a valley. From a 
sporting stand-point, I could see that matters were 
also admirably ordered. The grass was perfect, the 
courts well marked with broad, three -inch base- 
lines, the nets were of the best ; there were adequate 
stop-nets also. Considering the evident care and 
interest taken in the game, it appeared strange that 
the play was so indifferent. 

General Lynn had certainly given a charming en- 
tertainment. People were enjoying themselves — a 
thing they do not always at similar diversions. 
There was, however, an element of that self-con- 
sciousness which is one of the curses of our splendid 
nation. Knowing many a sufferer in this sort, and 
the marks of them, I detected, scattered among us, 
youths and maidens ill at ease, with an evident sense 


192 


FOLLY AND FEESH AIR. 


that every eye was turning in their direction, every 
ear eagerly attent to catch any word they might let 
fall. I assure these folks that silence is their bane ; 
let me implore of them to talk, to make themselves 
prattle whenever a chance offers of getting in a 
word edgewise. It matters not at all what they 
say ; they need not weigh every sentence ; they had 
far better speak each thing that comes into their 
minds, and keep on doing so. A simple plan, should 
you be a beginner, is to admire everybody. Then 
you hurt the feelings of none, whereas to criticise 
in an unfriendly spirit is unseemly and also danger- 
ous ; for it may happen that the individual you speak 
with, though a stranger to you, is the near relation 
and friend of he or she whom you speak of. 

After a “ mixed double ” was ended, General Lynn 
asked the Doctor if he would play a “ single ” with 
the champion he had mentioned in his second letter 
to me. My brother answered that it would give 
him great pleasure to do so, and we all adjourned to 
a single court. I could see that this meeting was 
regarded as one of the events of the day. Miss Lynn 
evidently felt extreme interest in the match, though 
we knew not why. For anything the Doctor could 
tell she was engaged to his adversary. People clus- 
tered round; even the boy Jones honored the game 
by his presence, though he had wherewith to sup- 
port nature in his pockets. Then General Lynn 
brought out the Exponent, as I shall call him. 

This gentleman was small of size, but had a wiry 
figure, and a black mustache waxed into exquisite 


FOLLY AND FRESII AIR. 


193 


points. His costume appeared somewhat' Moorish 
in tone, with a crimson, much-tasselled girdle and a 
fez of the same color. One mentally associated him 
with a hookah or a scimitar, or a harem or some 
matter of that kind. It would be safe to bet that he 
drinks sherbet, and has a fiery nature. 

He and the Doctor shook hands with the effusive- 
ness of boxers, and the Exponent was about to spin 
his racket for choice of courts, when my brother 
checked him. 

“Better use a coin,” he said; “a racket usually 
falls one way — why, I never met anybody who knew.” 

The Doctor lost the toss, and took “ service.” 
Whether it was that he had not performed for about 
a week, and was fresh, or that Miss Lynn inspired 
him, I cannot say, but he certainly played a good 
and sterling game. He did better, in fact, than 
there was any occasion to do. Both began cautious- 
ly, and the Doctor played the first set like a book, 
almost entirely from the back of the court. The 
Exponent abounded in obsolete dodges ; he screwed 
the ball and himself ; he endeavored to play strokes 
between his legs, and effected sundry half-volleys, 
which theoretically were wrong and practically fu- 
tile. The Doctor kept a good length, and smacked 
all the Exponent’s subtle conceits back into his left- 
hand corner with refreshing regularity. The local 
man’s back-handed game lacked finish, and he ended 
the first set by returning a ball into the audience, 
and knocking the hat off a young fellow who was 
just saying something rather clever to a girl. 

13 


194 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


The Doctor fancied there must be a good deal iii 
the courts, and the Exponent clung to this idea with 
renewed hope. In the second set my brother took 
matters coolly, and gave a chatty dissertation on the 
game as he went along for the benefit of Miss Lynn. 
She, by the way, cannot love the Exponent, or even 
care for him. Had she done so, it is absurd to sup- 
pose that she would have enjoyed herself so much, 
or sat on after the first set. His opponent’s racket 
seemed to have a horrible fascination for General 
Lynn’s champion. He returned every ball straight 
at it — a course of action that simplified the Doctor’s 
game. My brother showed them the Renshaw 
smash, the Lawford stroke off the ground in connec- 
tion with the Exponent’s side lines, the Lewis cross 
volley, which unnerved his adversary altogether, and 
upset somebody’s tea; and when, as a last resort, 
the gentleman in the fez tried lobbing, we were 
treated by the Doctor to Hill yard’s method of re- 
turning that shot — which method is most summary, 
and apparently consists in hitting the ball so shrewd- 
ly that it strikes your enemy’s court once and is no 
more seen. Finally, the Exponent sent for a brandy - 
and-soda, and began serving double faults, which 
ended the exhibition. 

The Doctor praised the game much. He declared 
that he had rarely enjoyed one more. He assured 
everybody that he had had most phenomenal good- 
luck; which, if not true concerning the lawn-tennis, 
was certainly the case afterwards, for Miss Lynn ex- 
pressed unbounded admiration at his performance, 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


195 


and led him away to eat fruit and cream. The Ex- 
ponent, as became a sportsman, took defeat with 
manly grace, and chid his sisters, who came to com- 
fort him, for saying rather rude things about the 
Doctor’s boisterous and blustering way of playing. 
They did not know that I had any interest in my 
brother, so I told them, and said I had always my- 
self deplored the robust fashion in which he followed 
the game. Then the lad Jones brought me some 
form of refreshment, which I did not recognize, 
probably because he had tampered with it. I there- 
fore declined the same with thanks, and found Mrs. 
Lynn. This lady was charming and cheery beyond 
the power of words to describe. She told me who 
everybody was, and how the General delighted in 
seeing folks round him, and what he had done in 
the Mutiny, and what the Mutiny had done for him. 
She declared that their daughter, Lucy, was lawn- 
tennis mad, and I begged her not to fret about it, 
because the disease is transitory and harmless, and 
universal. Then it was decreed that the Doctor and 
Miss Lynn should play in a “ double ” against myself 
and the Exponent. 

Personally, at lawn -tennis I am what a friend of 
mine calls a “ mug.” This means that though to play 
gives me pleasure, to watch me playing gives other- 
people pain. Not but what I flash out with a stroke 
occasionally, when a game is comfortably and happi- 
ly lost, that would be considered exceptional in the 
best company ; but these scintillations are rare, and 
invariably followed by something on my own side 


196 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


of the net which makes even tyros shudder. I play 
a very unselfish game in a “ four.” I told the Ex- 
ponent this, and begged him to put me anywhere he 
liked, or just give me some little corner of the court 
that he did not care about himself. But his spirit 
was broken, and he said that I had better guard half 
the allotted space in the usual w^ay. He declared it 
tvas not much use his playing, and took such a 
gloomy view of the future that I tried to brace him 
up, for it is painful to see a man abasing himself 
thus. I said : 

“Let us keep cool and steady and avoid my brother 
as much as possible in returning the ball, and all 
may yet be well with us.” 

This advice I still think was sound and proper to 
the case, but failed of effect. 

We couldn’t keep cool or steady, and as to avoid- 
ing the Doctor, it was beyond our power to do any- 
thing like avoid him. He dashed about and played 
an utterly unclassical game, and came near injuring 
us once or twice ; while those balls which he merci- 
fully permitted to pass w r ere returned in splendid 
form by Miss Lynn, who played beautifully. Gen- 
eral Lynn was delighted at this performance. He 
clapped his hands, and laughed, and criticised with 
great judgment, and begged us, as a personal favor 
to him, to play one more set on the same terms. I 
said to my partner, as we changed courts : 

“I shall play a biggish game now, and chance the 
is«ue.” 

He said it was all one to him what we played or 


FOLLY AND FEESH AIR. 


197 


how we played ; still, if I wished it, he, too, would 
play the biggest game he could. 

Thereupon he began to play a perfectly enormous 
game. It was not lawn -tennis, strictly so called, 
but more nearly approached base-ball or rounders, 
with a touch of golf in it. He hit out at everything. 
Neither Miss Lynn nor my brother had much to do. 
It was a most one-sided business. They simply sent 
the ball quietly to the Exponent, and watched while 
he smote it away towards the forest, or over the av- 
enue, or right up into heaven, as the fancy took him. 
We lost, roughly speaking, a dozen balls, and, of 
course, the set. 

Then further visits to the refreshment -tent be- 
came necessary, and Miss Lynn, who gloried in ev- 
erything connected with lawn-tennis, hung upon the 
Doctor’s words of wisdom concerning that sport. 
He told her she had a splendid fore-arm stroke, and 
she was pleased and showed it. Then they all talked 
and argued about what constituted good general- 
ship in “ mixed doubles,” and propounded theories 
and became entirely saturated with the game, while 
Miss Lynn capped everything by asking me if I took 
bisques* in my tea. 

I said : 

“ Not for choice ; but it doesn’t matter, if you 
have put them in.” 

Then Miss Lynn and her mother took the Doctor 
and other folks to see the houses, and General Lynn 


* The subtle bisque was a power when these things happened. 


198 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


asked me if I would play with him against a couple 
of boys who wanted taking down. Now, it is for 
some such opportunity as this that I have been 
yearning. To play with the General, and so regain 
his good graces, was a great and grand thing to 
have befallen me. The lads who wanted taking 
down came from Eton, and exhibited the assertive- 
ness produced by education at that famous estab- 
lishment. They had more “ bounce ” between them 
than all the lawn-tennis balls put together. I told 
the General that there was a good deal of difference 
between playing lawn-tennis and playing at it. I 
added that we ought to beat this pair handsomely, 
and I mentally vowed that we would do so if I 
could bring it about. 

The General was an enthusiast, like his daughter, 
but rather over-estimated his game, as elderly gen- 
tlemen will, and showed a very exaggerated notion 
of his own agility. He had a wild whim about leap- 
ing full three inches into the air to take volleys 
which would have been better left alone. Finding, 
however, that these tactics were unproductive, he 
relinquished them and came to the back of the 
court, and from there we played a game which was 
steady and sufficiently accurate. We slaved and 
toiled unceasingly to come at success. Good-fort- 
une smiled upon us, and we beat the self-sufficient 
boys, though only after a great struggle. 

General Lynn made no attempt to disguise his 
satisfaction at this. He applauded both himself 
and me. He actually invited me to go fishing with 


POLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


199 


him on the day after next ; and I felt that a friend- 
ship had sprung up between us which no power of 
man, or paltry appropriation of ham sandwich, 
should ever again annul. 

I told him that I would go to the world’s end, if 
necessary, to see him fish. I mentioned the opinion 
of the water-keeper concerning him, and he said the 
man was a very fair judge, and seemed gratified. 

Then the Doctor and Mrs. Lynn approached, and 
we found, by odd chance, that they too had arranged 
a sort of meeting for the same day. It happened 
thus : the wily Doctor had questioned Miss Lynn 
upon her coming charity entertainment at Tavy- 
bridge. He had congratulated her on her pluck in 
promoting such a thing, and had heard of all the 
difficulties attaching to it. She told him how hard 
a matter it was to secure sufficient talent on Dart- 
moor, and he had said, in a casual, deep way, that 
he had had a hand in dozens of similar concerns, 
and always found a banjo to “go” better than any- 
thing. Then it transpired that the Doctor could 
play this instrument ; and in the end, as my brother 
rather hoped, he had been earnestly entreated to 
give his valuable aid, both as regarded experience 
and stringed music. Mrs. Lynn and her daughter 
were driving into Tavybridge upon the day I was 
to fish with the General, and the Doctor promised 
to meet them and view the school - room in which 
the performance would take place, and make sug- 
gestions. He also undertook to find some “local 
talent,” as he described it ; which, seeing that our 


200 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


acquaintance with the good people of Tavybridge 
is practically limited to Mrs. Vallack and her hus- 
band and their baby, appeared rash in him. 

None of these folks would be any sort of use as 
public entertainers ; but my brother is a man of re- 
source, and will doubtless do something. Then peo- 
ple began to leave, and the garden-party came to an 
end in the shaking of many hands and the rolling of 
carriages ; while, for those who needed them, arose 
the question of trains back to Plymouth and other 
places. I said I rather thought there was some- 
thing going our way at “ fifteen-forty” or there- 
about, and the Doctor afterwards told me he 
thought it vulgar. To this I answered that Miss 
Lynn had laughed when I spoke it, which caused 
him to admit that perhaps it was slightly amus- 
ing. 

My brother settled down in the train with a con- 
tented sigh, and, as we happened to be alone, began 
at once. 

“Well, what do you think of her?” he asked. 

“Which particular ‘her?’” I answered; “there 
were so many, God bless them.” 

“Were there?” he said, quite simply. “I noticed 
but one.” 

“ You mean that tall, red-haired woman ?” 

I think he said “fool,” but as much to himself as 
to me. 

“ I liked Miss Lynn,” I continued. 

He nodded gravely. 

“Wonderful volleyer, for a girl,” he said. 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


201 


“Wonderful girl everyway,” I replied, feeling it 
would please him. 

“Candidly, do you think so?” 

“Yes, and pretty, too.” 

“ More beautiful than pretty,” he said. 

I thought “ pretty ” was exactly the word, but did 
not hold out for it. 

The Doctor reflected for a while, and lit a cigar 
without cutting the tip off. 

“ I should guess her age to be eighteen ; and she 
didn’t strike me as being an engaged girl,” he re- 
marked, presently. 

“Curious.” 

“ What do you mean by ‘ curious ?’ ” he inquired, 
sharply. 

“Curious she is not engaged,” I explained. 

“There was nobody worthy of her at Bracken 
Tor to-day,” he took it upon himself to declare. 

“Not a soul ; such a girl might aim at princes,” I 
assured him. 

“ Poetry and lawn-tennis are her favorite pursuits,” 
he went on, disregarding my remark. “ Odd, is it 
not? Just the same as mine.” 

This startled me. Again I found that the Doctor 
was not as well known to me as I supposed. 

“ I had no notion you cared for poetry.” 

“ Hadn’t you ?” he answered, but did not go into 
the question. In fact he rather avoided it, I fan- 
cied. 

“Should you say her eyes were blue or violet?” 
he asked, suddenly, in a matter-of-fact way. 


202 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


“For the purposes of a poem,” I answered; “if 
you are meditating any outrage of that sort, it would 
be better to regard them as blue. Violet is an awk- 
ward word to fit with a happy rhyme.” 

My brother chose to be angered. He said : 

“ Other people can use pens and paper besides 
you, and a thundering sight better, too.” 

I allowed the truth of this ; I made no pretension 
to being unique in such a matter; I was pleasant to 
the Doctor and encouraged him, and offered to give 
him particulars concerning a rhyming dictionary, or 
even telegraph to town for one. Secretly, I was, of 
course, sorry for him. I hoped he might come well 
out of it, and not get himself despised by the girl; 
for times are changed, and writing of poetry to 
young maids is hardly so common as formerly. 
When sensible men are in love nowadays they don’t 
bother about making verse, but go into the world 
and try to make money. If he has decided, however, 
to produce a poem, my brother will do so. Ho pow- 
er of earth can stop him when he thinks a thing is 
his duty. Nor would this be his first essay in light 
literature. As a mere lad he wrote stories of mur- 
der and carnage, and shed imaginary blood with a 
free hand. So much so, indeed, that unless he had 
taken to the thing literally as a part of his profes- 
sion, I doubt not he must have developed into an 
author of great and gory power. 

The Doctor grew taciturn after insulting me, un- 
til I began talking of our aunt Sophia, who was to 
reach Tavybridge that night. AVe proved to a mir- 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


203 


acle that she must now be in the very train which 
was bearing us along ; and, sure enough, out she got 
at our destination, and kissed us publicly, and loaded 
us with different light concerns to carry. But her 
heavy baggage was going on to Plymouth, which 
we felt to be well. And we took her with rejoicings 
to our cottage and supped handsomely; but the Doc- 
tor was in a brown study all the evening, and not 
great company, though he remembered himself suffi- 
ciently to send a telegram for his banjo and other 
affairs. 


204 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

A DAY WITH AUNT SOPHIA— THE WOMAN AND THE BUNDLE — 
AZURE AND GOLD — THINGS HARD TO TELL OF — THE HOUSE- 
FLY — A MEETING OF WATERS — THE BEAUTY OF SILENCE — 
FISHING— A NEW KEEPER — LOST ON DARTMOOR— THE CAST- 
ING AWAY OF AUNT SOPHIA — 11 ALARUMS AND EXCURSIONS ” 
— TO THE RESCUE— SAVED— JACK- A-LANTERN. 

Our plans for Aunt Sophia’s entertainment seemed 
good to her. She thought such a trip as we had ar- 
ranged would be pleasant, but as to a pony-carriage, 
she refused it, being a splendid walker, and fond of 
exercise. We started after breakfast, the road tend- 
ing upward, as every road does from Tavybridge but 
one, which winds in the valley. We were soon on 
high ground, with elastic turf and heather beneath 
our feet, snowy mountains of summer cloud gleam- 
ing in sunshine above our heads, the murmur of life 
in our ears, the sight of new woods and forests in 
our eyes, with moorland rising above them and mead- 
ow-land beneath, with vast expanse of variously col- 
ored mountain and valley, all bound about by a dim 
and distant horizon of gray and purple tors. The 
pride of the morning had fallen in a sweet shower at 
dawn, and a fine day promised to follow. 

Aunt Sophia, while allowing nothing of beauty to 
escape her, yet found ample time to brim over with 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


205 


fun and rare humor and merry stories for our bene- 
fit. Her discourse is at all times larded with truths; 
her great experience of well-doing has brought to 
her a knowledge of the world as deep and wide and 
sweet as the sea. She is an optimist within reasona- 
ble bounds, though others who have striven as she 
has done among the poor and needy w^ould, in many 
cases, have allowed their energy and noble resolu- 
tions to fade, and bitterness and hopelessness to ap- 
pear before the sight of so much misery and evil. 
But my aunt, without pretending that this is the 
best of all possible worlds, certainly never allows 
herself to call it the worst. She inclines to the opin- 
ion that our round earth is pretty much what man 
makes it, and believes that the future shall be bright- 
er than the present. 

She told us how that a cross, sour-faced woman 
with a bundle had sat over against her in the train 
yesterday ; and how she, suspecting the bundle to 
contain human life, had by this happy guess won the 
surly mother’s heart. 

“ She scarcely opened her mouth except to grum- 
ble at the heat and the length of her journey, until 
I asked her to let me peep at her baby because I 
liked them. Then a smile came over her hard face 
and she started. She began by saying ‘ Lord love 
it,’ meaning the bundle. She went on with particu- 
lars concerning its early life, its nobility of charac- 
ter, its dental troubles, its fortitude under them, its 
escapes from death, the opinion of medical men upon 
it, and of relations. She explained its tastes in the 


206 


FOLLY AND FKESH AIK. 


matter of food -stuffs, and its capacity for solids, 
which was prodigious, and ought to have been check- 
ed. She spoke rather disparagingly of its father, 
who, she said, had been known, under alcoholic in- 
fluences, to kick the cradle across the room when 
she was out. We talked at great length, and when 
I left her and met you boys, I could still, in the dark- 
ening night, hear her saying 4 Lord love it,’ all to 
herself.” 

Thus spoke Aunt Sophia, and the Doctor answered 
that, in the matter of kicking cradles, the woman 
was to be fairly credited, for drunken men often 
maltreated their offspring thus, and he had known 
cases himself. 

This digging into hearts with the golden spade of 
sympathy is a beautiful art, and one to be cultivated 
by anybody desiring knowledge of human nature. 
Churls learn little of their fellow-creatures, sympa- 
thetic people learn much. 

The Doctor nearly broke his neck climbing onto 
banks and bowlders in order that he might point 
where Maryford lay among the mountains. Finally 
he marked down Bracken Tor to his own satisfac- 
tion, though I question if he had not really missed 
it by ten miles or so. He was pleasanter to-day and 
somewhat sleepy, which makes me suspect that he 
sat late overnight in the privacy of his chamber get- 
ting things into train for his poem. I wished he 
would leave it to me. For a brother, I would do a 
task of this kind on merely nominal terms — say half 
a guinea a line, and spare no trouble or labor. 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


207 


We began to near the Virtuous Lady Mine, of 
which I may say at once I could find none to tell me 
the history or legend. There must have been a mine 
once and doubtless a virtuous lady; but we saw 
nothing to be called a mine now, nor yet any lady, 
virtuous or otherwise, for the place was most lonely, 
though beautiful withal. 

As we approached it, a great effect of gold against 
rich azure came before us. Like a flaming cliff, 
there rose, on the opposite side of the valley, a hill, 
bold in curve and high, and clad with broom and 
furze. Never had we seen any show of color so 
brave. Rocks broke through it and outlined it 
against the bright blue above. Many goats, gray 
and brown and black, roamed at their will on this 
mountain, climbing with great skill and instruct- 
ing their bleating kids in the art of surefootedness. 
Men also worked lower down, knee-deep in bracken, 
the which they ’were cutting and mowing ruthlessly. 
They leave the fern where it falls until it becomes 
dry, and then store it in stacks for winter use. Both 
bracken and heather make fine and sweet litter. A 
man might sleep on a worse bed than these. 

"We were now walking down-hill, and from the 
green woods, still far below, rose the sigh of water — 
an accompaniment to every like piece of valley sce- 
nery in this emerald county. But the air of shelter 
and repose, the freedom and breadth, as we came to 
that shaded stream ; the orchards, bowed under the 
ruddy fruit, with plump, crimson apple and gray li- 
chen nestling together ; the wild hedges, whereon 


208 


FOLLY AND FEESH AIE. 


Nature’s autumnal jewelry already gleamed in silver 
festoons of clematis and coral trophies of bright 
berry ; the sunshine ; the scent of roses and laven- 
der from tiny cottage gardens ; the hum of honey- 
bees ; the great peace, though it was noontide — the 
soft peace, only broken by the musical click-clack of a 
farm cart slowly lumbering before us ; and the hazel 
bank, all adorned with barley, where a wain, in pass- 
ing, had been robbed of its bearded ears — these mat- 
ters, with their sights and savors, and the spirit hid- 
den therein, are wellnigh impossible to set down in 
ink upon a page. Artists who love such rural beau- 
ties and who have warm hearts and full palettes, may 
get nature and rustic life nearer to their audiences ; 
but even their hay-fields smell of turpentine ; and 
to sometimes see the hair from a painter’s brush left 
sticking in the billowy clouds of sunset or storm de- 
stroys illusion. 

A trifle will spoil a picture to many people. I re- 
member a battle-piece which, upon viewing it, I felt 
to be grand and inspiring. It was painted by a re- 
alist, and left very little to the most active imagina- 
tion but thunder of cannon and screams from dying 
throats. The horrors of war spread before me ; the 
mortal strife, the passion, the agony. As I gazed at 
fiery gleams, like yellow knives, bursting through the 
sulphurous pall of smoke that hid a battery, I beheld 
something move in the very heart of the explosion, 
and lo ! a house-fly sat there, like some sort of entomo- 
logic Shadrach superior to combustion. The picture 
seemed to shrink under my gaze after that, while the 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


209 


fly increased and finally dominated everything. He 
trampled about on the dead and wounded, and stop- 
ped to polish his face before a charge of cavalry, 
and made me long to kill him with my catalogue — a 
thing I would have done, but that I was in a public 
exhibition, where such an act must throw me open 
to misconstruction. 

After passing the cottages, our road grew more 
lonely, and presently we reached a meeting of rivers 
already mentioned. The smaller stream, its long 
and solitary journey ended, sped with rushing and 
bubbling joy to meet a bigger relation. At the 
juncture bright foam danced in creamy patches, and 
the waters were all hurry and swirl, with a thousand 
silver jets leaping up against the foot-way of bowl- 
ders which crossed them ; but lower down, where 
the mingled rivers ran deep, one could see the new 
arrival coming to the air again after its first plunge, 
and there the smooth stream’s face was dimpled 
and curled and spread with an oily tremor that rose 
eternally, and wound hither and thither, touched 
with shimmering light. 

The larger river we felt must be taken seriously. 
It ajDpeared a considerable body of water, with long, 
broad reaches, lofty banks in some places, and 
framed with scenery moulded upon a greater scale 
than any we hhd yet observed. The finest spot to 
describe lay just below the mingling point of the 
two streams. Here giant acclivities robed in oak 
rose above a still, deep basin of black water. The 
hill curved in such fashion that colossal shadows fell 
14 


210 


FOLLY AND FKESH AIR. 


across it, darkening half the steep of trees and all 
the river below. Bat above, the foliage was full of 
sunlight, and this brightness, in measure reflected 
by the shadowed water, sent glinting stars and 
sparks of sunbeam playing unexpectedly upon ferns 
and rocks and the trunks of trees at the pool’s mar- 
gin. Below the bend of this great hill the river-bed 
fell suddenly, affording exquisite contrast between 
that dark, silent basin above, and glowing falls of 
roaring, flying, foaming water, alive with light and 
action, with shaking branches and trailing briers, 
and the flash of wet granite. 

Overlooking these things, beneath the mouldering 
walls of an ancient cottage, we sat us down and 
lunched. Aunt Sophia, who loves Nature, albeit 
most of her time is spent in cities, declared herself 
to be much blessed in seeing such a view as this. 
She is one of those wise and desirable people who 
do not talk unceasingly in the presence of fine sce- 
nery. She keeps up no vexatious criticism or run- 
ning comment ; she does not flatter the works of 
God by calling them “ nice ” or “ pretty ” or 
“sweet;” she prefers rather to gaze and reflect si- 
lently, and paint the landscape on her heart, where 
in years to come Memory shall find it fresh and 
true and unfaded. If people would only think in- 
stead of talk when they stand before any notable 
production of art or nature, they might benefit every 
way. 

A ring of barn-yard fowls assembled to see us eat. 
They closed in gradually upon us, led by a draggle- 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


211 


tailed, sorry hen who had scarcely a decent feather 
to her back. This bird, with strange selfishness 
and bad judgment, would often leave choice frag- 
ments merely for the sake of snatching morsels from 
its friends. It hated to think anybody was having 
anything but itself. It gorged and clucked about 
in a manner most objectionable, and nothing alarmed 
it. Aunt Sophia said that the ill-conditioned thing 
strangely reminded her, both in facial appearance 
and manners, of a poor, aged woman in London. 
“ She has the same sharp turn of the neck,” said my 
aunt, “ and the same sinister eye, while, I fear, she 
gets a living in the same hardened, mendicant way.” 

The Doctor thought this fowl more of a bare- 
faced robber than a beggar. He discouraged it 
greatly with some mustard on bread. The creature 
ate it, but showed a sense of discomfort afterwards, 
and seemed to want a glass of something cool. My 
brother was blamed, but he explained that he had 
acted from kindness, mustard being a fine condi- 
ment for restoring plumage to a bird, like rusty 
nails or sulphur. Then Aunt Sophia wanted to 
know why we had brought fishing-rods, as we did 
not apparently intend using the same. To this we 
replied that we only waited her word as a signal for 
starting. We put up the deadly engines already 
fatal to so many trout, and straightway set about 
adding more to the slain ; while Aunt Sophia stood 
a long time and watched us catch nothing. 

Presently a strange thing befell me. I was fish- 
ing alone in deep water when a veritable peel rose 


212 


FOLLY AND FRESH ATR. 


within three yards of my fly. He left the river on 
some private concern not at all connected with me. 
Indeed, he knew not that I was there, for I caught 
his eye in mid-air, and it was easy to see he felt 
thunderstruck at seeing me so close at hand. Thus 
I explained the event to myself, but it is still possi- 
ble that he had seen me and merely rose to get a 
better view. In that case, what he saw disgusted 
and disappointed him, for he did not rise again. I 
had never been so near a live peel before, to my 
knowledge, and it gave me pleasure. I fished for 
him afterwards, but failed to deceive him, though I 
dried the fly between each cast and took a deal of 
trouble. 

Trout, however, both the Doctor and myself man- 
aged to catch. We worked up the larger river, and 
the fever of killing being strong upon us, pushed 
steadily forward. My brother was ambling along 
up to his knees in mid-stream, when a voice chal- 
lenged his attention from the bank, and, looking up, 
he noticed a sturdy man clad in brown, with gaiters 
and a stout ash stick. He said : 

“ Good^morning.” 

The man replied : 

“Arternoon to you, sir, and come out, please. 
There’s no wading ’lowed down this water.” 

The Doctor came out, of course, and regretted 
taking liberties with the river ; and I arrived and 
apologized also, because I could see the man was 
looking at a sort of high-water-mark on my lower 
limbs, which clearly showed where I had been. 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


213 


This, however, for all he could tell, might be due to 
an accident, calling for sympathy rather than re- 
proof. He begged us not to wade again, because it 
was against the law ; he then entered our names in 
his book, and being a man of few words, almost im- 
mediately took his departure. We asked, as he 
moved away, if much was doing on this river, and 
he answered : 

“ Nothing much, as I’ve heard tell on. Arter- 
noon, gentlemen.” 

Now, while disliking a keeper who is too chatty, 
and stops for an hour and unfolds his private life 
just when the fish are rising, I still enjoy reasonable 
converse with such folks. Icy coldness of manner 
and official indifference leave me unhappy. It may 
chance that this guardian of the waters has been 
soured by poaching troubles, or, possibly knowing 
what his colleague on the other rivers can do in the 
way of conversation, he intentionally adopts an au- 
stere and laconic method of dealing with sportsmen. 

We presently returned to the junction of the riv- 
ers and began fishing up the second one, there being 
no sign of Aunt Sophia. This lesser stream wound, 
with many a turn, through heavy growth of trees, 
and we followed it far. Finally, long black shad- 
ows and glowing red lights of evening surprised us 
in the heart of a deep valley that narrowed, as we 
proceeded into a gorge, dark and full of gloom. So 
the last gleam of sunlight vanished, flickering fare- 
well on the tops of the loftiest trees ; the eternal 
mists, only waiting that signal, began to creep in 


214 


FOLLY AND FEESH AIE. 


dense dews and fingers of vapor from their hiding- 
places ; night had already fallen beneath the rocky 
precipice under which we now found ourselves. I 
was for turning in our tracks and following the 
stream to where we had lunched and left Aunt So- 
phia ; but the Doctor said such a course would be 
grotesque waste of valuable time. To trace this 
sinuous stream might even be impossible in the 
darkness, he declared, and pointed, as he did so, to a 
rugged sheep-walk, leading out of the gorge upward 
to higher land. 

He had his will; and all blame for the horrible 
catastrophe which soon overwhelmed us must, there- 
fore, be laid upon him, not me. The sheep - walk 
was a snare and a dread delusion. We started up 
it and followed its vagaries for a matter of twenty 
minutes without a remark of any sort falling from 
either of us. The path began by rising almost per- 
pendicularly, then it turned round a corner and fell 
into bracken up to our waists with an undergrowth 
of furze, and probably snakes as well. Tired of this, 
it leaped out onto the mountain - side again and 
rushed up-hill and down, and into huge ants’ nests, 
and over marshes and mud and bowlders. It even 
tried to get up trees. I never was upon such an 
aimless, idiotic path in my life. Meanwhile it grew 
dark rapidly, and the Doctor kept ploughing for- 
ward, ever increasing the pace, as people do when 
they have not the remotest idea where they are go- 
ing to. Finally, the sheepwalk — though I doubt if 
even a sheep would have been weak enough to fol- 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


215 


low it as far as we had — began to play at fireworks 
and throw off lesser tracks in every direction. Then 
the parent branch flung itself bodily into a hideous 
chasm. 

Seeing which I spoke. I said : 

“You may cast yourself down there if you like; 
I don’t.” 

“ No, it’s useless going down there,” my brother 
admitted, looking over. 

“Quite — that is if you ever want to come up 
again.” 

“We had better stop and think,” he said. “We 
cannot disguise the fact that we are lost.” 

“Disguise it !” I answered, warmly, “I should 
think we couldn’t. The thing has been patent for 
half an hour.” 

“Where are we, I wonder?” murmured the Doc- 
tor. 

“The question is: where’s Aunt Sophia?” I 
groaned. “If we are lost, what must she be, in this 
desolate and abominable region ?” 

“Merely mislaid,” he replied, with irritating cool- 
ness. “ Let us have your compass.” 

“What’s the good of that? It may show where 
the north is, and where the south, but it won’t show 
where Aunt Sophia is or where we are.” 

We looked at it by the light of matches and got 
no comfort from it. Then the Doctor said he felt a 
sort of instinct that we ought to keep moving, and I 
felt a sort of instinct that we ought to shout and 
wake the echoes. We followed my instinct first. 


216 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


We woke the echoes and a rustling owl that sailed 
away hooting unpleasantly. Then the echoes went 
to sleep again, and there came no responsive shout 
or cry. The Doctor lighted a cigar, and said he 
should now follow his instinct and make a move 
somewhere. I said I might just as well die with 
him as alone, so we started. It was an experience 
that even now I can think of with nothing but dis- 
gust, slightly tempered with thankfulness that we 
came happily out of it. We toiled and staggered, 
panted and climbed, swore, when anything knocked 
the cuticle off us, which frequently happened, and 
bawled ourselves hoarse when we fancied we stood 
on high ground. We wallowed in unutterable 
sloughs and icy streams ; we rolled down hideous 
declivities, we traversed long, desolate leagues of 
night-hidden morass and stony fell. I suggested 
that perhaps we had left Devonshire altogether, and 
should probably find ourselves among precipices on 
the Cornish coast before morning, or, perchance, in 
the Somerset fens. I said : 

“The banks of the Styx would be better than this 
infernal vagueness.” 

“I’m thinking more of Aunt Sophia,” said the 
Doctor. 

“ She’s at peace,” I answered, bitterly and envi- 
ously. “ Our kind, good aunt may at this moment 
be with the angels, and it’s your fault entirely. We 
shall be—” 

“ With the other contingent, if you don’t look 
where you’re going,” shouted the Doctor, interrupt- 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


217 


ing me ; for I had taken the lead now, and was 
dashing onward, I cared not whither. He stopped 
me and pointed ahead to a wan gleam of flame flick- 
ering here and there, rising and falling and feeding 
on the foul vapors of the moor, like a fire butterfly. 

At first I supposed that it was Aunt Sophia’s ghost, 
come to haunt and insult us, or even destroy us for 
having overlooked her so basely ; but my brother 
declared it to be a Jack-a-lantern, trying to lure us 
into an unfathomable bog, and so conclude our busi- 
ness out of hand. Jack might have been twenty 
yards off, or a hundred. It was impossible to judge, 
and we did not make any measurements, though the 
Doctor forgot some of his troubles in scientific in- 
terest at the thing. He said it was composed, body 
and soul, of sulphuretted hydrogen, and that he had 
often produced it in a laboratory, but never seen 
Nature’s version before. 

We moved forward once again, my brother ob- 
serving that if Aunt Sophia saw the Jack-a-lantern, 
she might very likely get within speaking distance 
of it and be sociable to it, and even turn it from its 
evil courses, so great were her powers of persuasion. 

I said : 

“Don’t try and be amusing, there’s a good chap. 
This is neither the time nor place for it. I already 
feel the first pang cf hunger.” 

Then we met a horse. I have had long argu- 
ments with the Doctor since as to who really found 
that horse. He says he did, and so saved us ; I, on 
the other hand, am firmly of opinion that the beast 


218 


FOLLY AND FEESH AIK. 


was detected by me. It stood upon a narrow track 
which, followed, brought us to a stile. Then, over 
several other stiles, we passed through a field to a 
gate, and all promised well. 

The gate opened onto a high-road with a tele- 
graph wire on posts running down one side and a 
ditch along the other — a modern, civilized road, 
pleasant to feel under foot. We knew there was a 
ditch, because the Doctor fell into it, and I feared I 
had lost him, in sight of land as it were, like many 
a good ship that weathers Atlantic hurricanes only 
to break her heart and founder beneath the cliffs 
of home. However, my brother hopped out of the 
ditch again, and immediately afterwards we chanced 
upon a man in a dog-cart. He told us that he reck- 
oned it to be five good miles to Tavybridge, and not 
less than ten to Virtuous Lady Mine. We therefore 
set out for the former, purposing to make inquiries, 
and then start with all the villagers we could collect 
to rescue Aunt Sophia. 

“We will take ropes and lanterns and blood- 
hounds, if we can get them,” said the Doctor. 

“And a post-horn and blue lights and sky-rockets 
and guns to attract her attention,” I added. 

“Also food and cordials, and blankets and some 
comfortable conveyance,” continued the thoughtful 
Doctor. 

I saw it would be a grand and imposing affair, 
this recovery of Aunt Sophia ; but still the hateful 
fear that all effort might come too late weighed 
heavily upon me. 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


219 


“She may have lost lier beautiful life in some 
black tarn, or fallen over a precipice, or had the 
worst of a deal with the Jack-a-lantern, or a thou- 
sand things,” I said. 

“Not she,” answered the Doctor. “Aunt Sophia 
is a woman of parts.” 

“ Exactly, and they may all be separated now,” I 
groaned. 

“ She won’t lose her head, at any rate,” he de- 
clared, cheerfully. “Her common- sense and wis- 
dom and courage are her safeguards.” 

I failed to see how common-sense or wisdom could 
keep a person from getting starved if they had noth- 
ing to eat, but did not say so. 

The good five miles being ended, we rushed into 
Tavybridge and began rousing the village gener- 
ally. We went to the Constabulary Station and 
the Post-office and the General Dealer’s, summon- 
ing aid and advice from each. Some of the people 
we questioned in the matter showed no interest, oth- 
ers a great deal ; one proved invaluable. This was 
no less a person than the pocket Whiteley himself. 
He had heard of us from Mrs. Yallack. 

“Lor! she be cast away down to the Vartuous 
Lady? Come in, come in, we must get some lads 
together and staart at once.” 

Thus he spoke, and placed the entire resources of 
his establishment at our service. But though we 
found ropes and lanterns, there were neither fire- 
works nor blood-hounds among his goods, and, not 
having them, he, of course, assured us nothing of the 


220 


FOLLY AND FRESII AIR. 


kind would be necessary. We bid him summon a 
handful of trusty blades, whose local knowledge 
and nerve could be relied upon. These he was to 
bring to the cottage as soon as possible, and we 
would pack a creel with food and strong spirits and 
then lead them to their task. He said the men 
should be round in ten minutes, and we left him. 

By Heaven! I shall never forget the sight that 
met our anxious eyes on returning home. There, in 
the glow of* a shaded lamp, snug, comfortable, hap- 
py, and altogether alive, sat Aunt Sophia, just finish- 
ing her supper. We gasped, we rubbed our eyes, it 
seemed almost too good to be true. She said : 

“ Ah, here you are, my dears. I grew tired, so 
set out for home, thinking you would overtake me. 
What a pleasant day it has been. Indeed, I can re- 
call no pleasanter.” 

W e looked at her in blank amazement. 

“How did you get back?” asked the Doctor, 
hoarsely. 

“Plow should I? Walked, of course.” 

“ Dear me,” I said, “ we never thought of that.” 

Then, bit by bit, our piteous narrative leaked out. 
We told her how we had lost ourselves in a sublime 
mountain fastness ; how we had thought of her sit- 
ting forlorn and alone ; how we had fought with 
the powers of Nature and conquered several of 
them ; how we had escaped from Jack-a-lanterns and 
other great nocturnal perils, simply in order to save 
her ; how our hair had very nearly grown white in a 
single night, when we thought that our efforts might 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


221 


come too late ; and how we had made tremendous 
preparations and gathered together men and dogs 
and torches and many ropes, all of which things, 
by-the-bye, would probably arrive in a few minutes. 

She was much moved ; she said we had done well 
and bravely ; but she added that she was not the 
sort of woman to sit tamely down in the middle of 
Dartmoor to be rescued, if any opportunity offered 
of rescuing herself. She had been home for a long 
while, and would possibly have set about organizing 
a rescue party for us in another hour or two. 

Then there arose a babble in the garden. We 
heard the murmuring of men and dogs, and saw the 
flashing of lights. People were walking up and 
down on the flower-beds, getting ready apparatuses 
for saving life. We opened the window. I said : 

“ I am happy to tell you, my men, that the lady 
has arrived, and all is well.” 

“ She be come ?” asked several voices. 

“ Yes ; I am very sorry that you should have been 
troubled.” 

They raised a limp cheer, and the pocket White- 
ley, hastening forward, said that five shillings would 
cover the cost of the entire expedition so far as it 
had got. 

They were all recompensed on rather a better 
scale than this, and cheered again with increased 
vigor. Then Aunt Sophia felt called upon to give 
more reward, being affected with the display ; after 
which I made a short speech, and said how grati- 
fying this kind of manifestation was to us ; and 


222 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


some genius, who had proposed starting to search 
for our dear aunt with a German concertina, 
thought he might as well play it now as not, and did 
so. Whereupon the multitude of dogs that had beeft 
collected lifted up their voices and howled like one 
dog ; and the Doctor, growing huffy, begged me, as 
a favor, to shut the window and draw the blind, so 
that such tomfoolery might come to an end. He 
was punished for his lack of enthusiasm afterwards, 
as the whole of the assembled heroes went into the 
inn where he sleeps, and kept it up hot and strong 
for a considerable time, easily bribing the solitary 
constable whose duty should have been to see the 
place shut for the night. 

Aunt Sophia was good enough to bless us before 
retiring ; but while the estimable woman’s benison 
seemed to warm me and comfort me and do me 
good, it somehow missed fire with the Doctor ; for, 
after she had left us, he began to comment profane- 
ly upon his bad judgment ; and he dragged me into 
it, using language that was distinctly out of place 
in the mouth of a man who had just been blessed. 
I said we had done our best, but he thought not ; he 
even declared we had acted like idiots. Then I re- 
marked how “ all’s well that ends well which re- 
flection made him rise silently from his chair and 
go straight to bed. 

In dreams I fought our recent battle once again, 
and finally found myself and the Jack- a -lantern at 
daggers drawn in a lonesome fen. Our discussion 
was theological. He said he belonged to the Plym- 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


223 


outh Brethren, and did not care who knew it. He 
told me I was all wrong, like most of the rest of the 
world, and as to his luring me to this desolate spot, 
it was absurd: he had no wish to do me any harm; 
far from it. He justified his marshy method of ex- 
istence in a broad Devonshire dialect. He sneered 
at the world and the people in it. He spoke, in fact, 
to the following effect ; I only omit his accent : 

“ I like to hear you running me down ; it is so 
manly and generous, is it not? You attack me just 
because I’m a little country bumpkin of a Jack-a- 
lantern that has no learning or logic ; but do you 
fall foul of my big relations who dance through the 
world luring all mankind into bogs and quicksands 
and quaking sloughs ? No. Do you blame that 
wonderful fellow, Gold, who turns the earth upside- 
down and has his altars wherever two civilized men 
are gathered together? No. Yet, what is he? A 
glorified dust. Do you blame that beautiful vision, 
Fame, with a rainbow for her diadem and rainbow- 
gold in her hand? No. Yet how many eat out their 
hearts and fret their poor fingers to the bone for 
her laurel and bay? And how many find her more 
enduring than I? Do you blame that knock-kneed 
fetich which men call the World’s Good Repute — 
that tawdry, hollow, gingerbread ghost? No. You 
yearn for it, lie for it, cringe to it, kiss it, sacrifice 
before it your self-respect, your independence, your 
honor. And what sort of dance does that decayed 
sham lead you? What do you go through, and 
struggle through, and creep and crawl through to 


224 


FOLLY AND FKESH AIR. 


get it ? And what do you look like when you have 
got it ?” 

“ Generalize,” I said ; “ don’t be personal, and 
don’t ask so many questions, if you want them an- 
swered.” 

“ I know all the answers,” he declared, and then 
inquired abruptly : 

“You die, you men, don’t you?” 

I had to admit that we did. 

“And when death drops his gray curtain between 
you and the Jack- a -lanterns you have loved ; when 
Death drags his net round you, and the meshes begin 
to cut and tighten ; when your dim eyes see the world 
fading, fading, and the faces in it all turned the other 
way — what then ?” 

“Then, John,” I answered, with some respect, 
“your lantern doth truly grow to be a type and a 
symbol of most earthly concerns.” 

I awoke and gazed abroad. Starlight and mist 
nursed an old, dying moon in their silver arms ; and 
neighboring streamlets, winding under forest trees, 
murmured a long-drawn sigh, for Mother Earth was 
dreaming of sad matters in her sleep. 


POLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


225 


CHAPTER XIV. 

FAREWELL TO AUNT SOPIIIA —TRAITS OF RUSTIC CHARACTER 
— THE COURTLY GENERAL — OLD INDIANS — CAVIARE — A 
STORM BREWING — PISCATORIAL NATURE — HOW TO SHOOT 
PLOVER — THE DOCTOR’S ARRANGEMENTS — LOVE AND 
THUNDER — AJAX PHOTOGRAPHS THE LIGHTNING. 

To-day, after seeing Aunt Sophia upon her jour- 
ney, I walk ten miles over the moor to meet General 
Lynn and fish with him, but the Doctor does not 
propose leaving Tavybridge. His intention is to de- 
vote the morning to securing talent for the enter- 
tainment on Saturday, and report progress to Miss 
Lucy Lynn, when she and her mother shall drive 
over in the course of the day. Whether he will in 
reality advance with his different schemes time alone 
can show, but I notice that he has cast aside his 
angling garments entirely, rather preferring to blos- 
som out in new tweeds, with a white necktie, a gold 
pin, and other precious adornments. He is, howev- 
er, in some tribulation about his nose. Much of the 
Doctor’s facial charm lies in this feature, and now 
the skin is peeling off it from sunburn — a catastro- 
phe his medical science appears unable to cope with. 
He looks at it in the glass, and pats it and growls. 

After breakfast Aunt Sophia, expressing renewed 
pleasure at her brief flight across Dartmoor, steamed 
15 


226 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


away to Plymouth to do good there, and rejoin her 
heavy baggage. Having witnessed her departure, I 
started at great speed to attend General Lynn, and 
my brother began his investigations in Tavybridge. 

Ten miles on these high lands, especially if walked 
before noon, scarcely amount to more than five 
trudged through low-lying country under a heavier 
air. Nor do the steep hills make as much hard 
work as might be supposed. I had two hours for 
my spin, and felt no fear of not accomplishing it 
within that time if the roads kept good. The sce- 
nery was wild and beautiful enough, but, being in 
most respects similar to much already noted, need 
call for little attention here. Small boys in villages 
appeared to regard me as a show, fast walking, even 
to the extent of five miles an hour, being strange to 
them. The Devon peasant is a man alive to the 
salutary beauties of middle courses in most concerns 
of life. He preserves a golden mean of self-con- 
tained, independent action. He is fearless, respect- 
ful, uncultured, honest, and I have never seen him 
walk quicker than three miles an hour. There are, 
of course, exceptional pedestrians whose work it is 
to cover ground, and who perform their business to 
the letter. Thus the water-keepers seldom travel 
less than five -and -twenty miles a day, and often 
much more. 

The bucolic mind is undoubtedly muddy, but by 
no means as shallow as I have heard men declare. 
They are, in my trifling experience, stolid, warm- 
hearted, God-fearing folks, these Dartmoor dwellers. 


FOLLY AND FRESII AIR. 


227 


Their ambitions rise little above those things the 
poor in other districts regard as necessaries ; they 
are, for the most part, well content ; and by no 
means, speaking generally, so vicious as people in 
towns. And this last fact is truly very much to 
their credit, for so-called realists declare that the 
Devil is quite as fond of the country as of bricks 
and mortar — an assertion, however, open to question. 
The works of Nature and the great free Spirit of 
Nature must be a power for good in the blankest 
mind ; while the rude bodily health, born of open- 
air toil in a fine climate, also appears a force work- 
ing towards good rather than evil. The least in- 
tellectual among men is not only animal. For 
young paupers in towns, unwatched and unfriended, 
the Tree of Knowledge yields fruit that is soon ripe 
and soon rotten ; the village lad’s brain, on the 
other hand, has no whet of dire necessity to work it 
so fast and sadly. For him the fruit of knowledge 
matures but slowly, and when full ripe may be poor 
enough, too ; but it will be wholesome of its kind, 
and sweet and honest, and sufficient for his needs. 

General Lynn and I were to meet upon a certain 
bridge, and, by odd chance, as he arrived upon one 
side of it I reached the other. , He greeted me with 
great friendliness, and we prepared to fish imme- 
diately. The General was a perfect museum of 
happy little ideas and contrivances to help an angler. 
Many of these he had invented himself, and some, 
he said, had now come into common use and were 
well thought of. He sighed when he saw my 


228 


FOLLY AND FEESH AIE. 


“ traces,” and method of affixing flies thereto. He 
showed me his own gear, which looked to be about 
the thickness of a split gossamer. I opined in my 
ignorance that a minnow would scarcely allow him- 
self to be captured with such a delicate matter, but 
General Lynn said that, given a fisherman who knew 
his business, this shadowy filament would suffice 
him for all practical purposes in catching trout. 
“If you were in the water I •will make bold to say 
I could catch you with it,” he declared. I took his 
word, of course, not desiring any experiment of that 
kind. 

The General proved pleasingly didactic upon his 
art, as became a man so skilled and well-qualified to 
instruct. He showed me my faults, and they were 
numerous ; but he prefaced each criticism with a 
courtly “Pardon me,” “Now if I may venture to 
suggest,” “ I cannot help thinking that you err,” and 
so forth ; all very old-fashioned and refreshing. I 
love this chivalrous consideration for another’s feel- 
ings; it is so rare. Politeness in small things, and 
a reasonable observance of the little amenities of 
life are vanishing before the wild march of this 
electric age. But it lingers yet in the heart of 
gentle and rustic whom choice or chance anchors 
far from towns. 

I complimented him on his skill in landing the 
trout which he caught. He said : 

“ Long years of experience have gone to produce 
such ability as I may possess. You are to know, 
my dear sir, that I have fished for upward of forty- 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


229 


five years. Why, I caught that celebrated fish, the 
mahseer, in India before you were born.” 

He spoke as if there had never been but one 
mahseer. I said : 

“ Well, General, if you caught him, there’s an end 
of the matter, but I wish you had waited for me. 
I should like to have helped.” 

Our conversation, for the most part serious, touched 
the fringe of many subjects. I found that General 
Lynn was a Devonshire man born, and had the stout 
belief in his county every true Devon man reveals. 
He cared not at all for cities, but kept well abreast 
of the times, and spoke with great sense and reason 
upon questions of the day ; proving, moreover, far 
more tolerant than, in my experience, old Indians 
are wont to be. Whether it is the vast quantity of 
curry-powder they consume or the climate, or the 
mixing with Asiatics or humors begot from livers 
out of repair, I cannot say, but, as a rule, I have 
found the retired military heroes of India to lack 
breadth and moderation. Still, they generally ap- 
pear men of a religious mind, with strong convic- 
tions, if narrow sympathies. 

At lunch I had a little surprise for General Lynn 
in the shape of some excellent sandwiches of caviare. 
I had sent to Plymouth for the stuff, and it reposed 
between thin slices of wheaten bread, white as snow 
and unquestionably appetizing. He had some good 
provisions, too, but nothing quite so high-class as 
mine. We did well, and he made a merry jest 
about my sandwiches not being “ caviare to the 


230 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


general.” I partook of his luncheon also, and thought 
of the occasion when I had done so before, and how 
times were changed. Presently General Lynn drank 
a little whiskey - and - water, smoked a cigar, and 
praised the scenery. He foretold a thunder-storm, 
and there were not wanting many signs of such an 
event. The day began to grow sultry and oppressive, 
while the sun was partially veiled in a sickly gauze 
of cloud. The air, though we were on Dartmoor, 
seemed exhausted and dead. Cattle herded togeth- 
er under the trees, and from time to time would low 
restlessly, or, with tails in the air, make hurried ex- 
cursions, trampling and ill at ease. A few inexpe- 
rienced young trout were feeding under the river’s 
banks, but the better fish, mysteriously aware that 
the night would bring with it storm and freshet, 
made no pretence at a mid-day meal, waiting rather, 
like the gourmands they 'were, for dinner. The 
sport proving thus poor, we abated our ardor, re- 
clined under alders by the stream, smoked, dis- 
coursed, and watched a dragon-fly, which gleamed 
with every color from Iris’s paint-box. Presently, 
General Lynn desired I should accompany him to 
Bracken Tor, which lay within an easy hour’s walk ; 
but having regard for the threatened thunder-storm, 
I deemed it better to strike homeward, and did so. 

We parted as we had met: with friendship, at the 
bridge. 

“ Good-day to you,” said he ; “ we may meet next 
Saturday evening at Tavybridge, for my daughter 
insists on it that I must be at her concert.” 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


231 


Daring my return journey I overtook several 
brethren of the rod, noting in them divers traits of 
piscatorial character. Young anglers, I find, will 
never take your word for a thing. They must see, 
or they will not believe, doubtless judging others by 
themselves. Experienced fishermen, on the con- 
trary, who have had empty baskets often enough 
and know what they feel like, never show any inde- 
cent curiosity or unbelief. They may suspect you 
are lying if you talk of heavy sport on a day when 
they have done nothing, but they will rarely ask to 
see, unless you offer to show. 

Coming up with a middle-aged angler, chiefly- no- 
ticeable for the great size of his creel and his calves, 
he remarked on the closeness of the weather, and I 
asked him what he had done. 

“Well, I’ll tell you the truth,” he began. I stop- 
ped him pleasantly. I said : 

“ Don’t, if you would rather not. In chance con- 
versations of this kind between fishermen, one hardly 
looks to hear the truth. By telling it you may be 
creating a bad precedent.” 

He seemed surprised ; he merely answered : 

“ Well, I haven’t killed a fish to-day.” 

I begged him to think again before making a tre- 
mendous assertion like that. It appeared quite out- 
side the bounds of all probability or experience that 
a stalwart fly-fisher should angle for hours and have 
such atrociously bad-fortune. 

“If you have not absolutely killed any,”I said, “sure- 
ly you must have caught one or two, or even more.” 


232 


FOLLY AND FEESII AIR. 


He admitted that he had taken a few small ones, 
and let them go again. This encouraged me, and I 
tried hard to make him admit that he had killed just 
one or so. But he stuck resolutely to it that he had 
not. 

He was, however, too thorough a sportsman to ig- 
nore the value of a little gloss on an anecdote occa- 
sionally ; and in order that he might atone for this 
exaggerated, overdone truthfulness concerning his 
fishing, he mentioned another favorite amusement 
of his, treating the particulars of it in a freer spirit 
and painting with a broad brush. 

This was shooting of plover, in which branch of 
sport the man must have been unapproachable. The 
number of plover he had killed in his time ran into 
figures beyond my power to estimate. When shoot- 
ing plover his rule was never to bring down less 
than four or five at a discharge. He confessed frank- 
ly that sometimes both barrels had only accounted 
for two or three between them ; but these were re- 
verses that the best shot must occasionally put up 
with. Plover, he explained, have curious fads which 
render them easy of acquiring. One may go out to 
a likely spot and see not so much as the ghost of a 
plover, in which case a man must simply lie down 
on his back and kick his heels desperately in the air. 
This is the one thing a plover cannot stand. If you 
wave your legs thus aloft, and there is a plover in 
the country, that bird will come to see the operation. 
They are mad about it. They will sacrifice home 
and duty and family interests for a sight of it. They 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


233 


cluster round in dozens and hundreds, and exchange 
ideas and criticise, and simply “ give themselves 
away,” as modern slang has it. After thus collect- 
ing his prey, the sportsman regains that proud posi- 
tion proper to him, fires right and left upon the un- 
fortunate plovers, and simply massacres them. 

This is just an unvarnished outline of the sport, 
but the man who was talking to me treated his sub- 
ject with such glowing power, and dwelt on his own 
astounding successes so forcibly, that I envied such 
a gift of word painting, while feeling at the same 
time I had yet to meet a truthful sportsman. 

It is just the same with all shooting, with scores 
at cricket, big catches of fish and the weight of them, 
“times” in running, “breaks” at billiards, and so 
forth. Distance lends enchantment to the view of 
these things, and not only enchantment. 

The Doctor had already returned when I reached 
home. He casually pushed together some papers, 
and shut a blotting-pad on them as I entered. But 
this did not deceive me ; for I know what a man 
looks like when he has been composing. I could see 
it in his eyes and in his hair and in the cigarette 
ends that littered the floor and table. 

He was enthusiastic about Miss Lynn and the day 
he had spent. He thought the concert should make 
money, and as to talent — w^ell, there was not much 
about, certainly, but he had secured some, and that 
good. The landlord of the adjoining inn could, it 
appeared, warble very efficiently, and was down for 
a song. The hand-bell ringers were also beaten up, 


234 


FOLLY AND FEESH AIR. 


and declared themselves happy to oblige, though 
somewhat out of practice, the winter being their 
great season. My brother had also found a boy with a 
pretty talent for whistling and imitating song-birds ; 
while, as a great attraction, two sturdy fellows were 
to wrestle the best of three falls in the Devon style. 
There was a raised stage at the school-room where 
the entertainment would take place, and a little 
strengthening might make it equal to the wrestlers’ 
needs. Miss Lynn had sent for a piano from Plym- 
outh. She was to play and sing ; and her dearest 
friend was going to make a first appearance in public 
with the violin, which she had studied assiduously 
for six months. The Exponent had volunteered a 
cornet solo, and sleight-of-hand if they wanted it ; 
there was a professional coming from Plymouth, no 
one quite knew in what capacity ; and, lastly, the 
Doctor would appear twice. He said : 

“ I think we need one more item on the bill. May 
I count upon you ?” 

I told him it would be in the highest degree un- 
safe to do so, and he did not push the subject then, 
though I could see he meant returning to it. 

After a cup of tea he began saying many things, 
chiefly concerning Miss Lynn. He assured me that 
her unaffected, charming, fresh, beautiful way of 
talking quite fascinated him. He deemed her as 
clever a “ whip ” as ever he saw, and fearless, too. 
She was dressed in white, as far as he remembered, 
but had not noticed particularly. There was a 
warmth about her manner that appeared quite want- 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


235 


ing in other girls. Her eyes were violet, not blue. 
This is an extremely rare color for the human eye, 
the Doctor explained to me. She had told him the 
medical profession was a very grand and noble one. 
She was afraid she did not much like the banjo as 
far as her experience w T ent, but she knew little of it. 
Her favorite poet was Scott. Of course Scott had 
always been my brother’s great particular admiration, 
too. “ ‘ Mann ion ’ and ‘ The Lady of the Lake ’ and 
— and so on, you know — beautiful,” said the Doctor. 
Taste and tact and a certain sprightly humor were, 
he thought, her strong points. “ But the more one 
sees her, positively the more one finds to admire. 
She is a human gold-mine,” he concluded. I said 
this was not a happy simile, but he thought it good, 
because, as he explained, he was speaking of her 
soul. He added that she was pretty nearly all soul, 
and seemed to have a way of bringing out the soul 
in other people. From this and further wild remarks 
I gather that Miss Lynn has been draining the Doc- 
tor’s noble spirit out of him like a beautiful vampire. 

Later in the evening he grew rather depressed and 
restless. Whether it was the coming storm, or the 
fearful difficulty of finding anything to rhyme with 
“ violet,” or the fact that his banjo was overdue, or 
what not, it is impossible to say; but he became 
morbid and gloomy to a degree I should have be- 
lieved impossible in one of his sanguine nature. 
From being on fairly good terms with his annual in- 
come, he began to talk slightingly of it, and even 
contemptuously. He said life was all a tangle and a 


236 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


riddle, and he had never met even a decent, sensible 
ghost who could give a man the answer to it. Then 
he rambled out-of-doors, declaring that some thunder 
and lightning would do him good. But alas ! poor 
Doctor, the lightning has stricken him already, 
though as yet he hardly knows it.- A bolt has fallen 
from the blue — or the violet. 

“ Some natures crave a Titanic struggle occasion- 
ally,” says Ibsen, and if gigantic warring of elements 
can furnish peace and hope to unquiet hearts, as, in- 
deed, I know it can sometimes ; if the mere survey 
of these things brings comfort, then there was much 
abroad which might calm even the troubled Doc- 
tor’s soul. A very grand and notable thunder-storm 
raged that night on Dartmoor, and Tavy bridge lay 
in the heart of it. In fact, we appeared to give birth 
to the entire atmospheric disturbance. It came from 
nowhere in particular, but appeared to begin right 
overhead. The day departed in angry piles of crim- 
son and copper-colored cloud that seemed to crush 
and smother the sun on his death-bed ; and, the mon- 
arch once gone, anarchy most dire and universal 
rushed over earth and sky. It was scarcely night 
when the first quivering, jagged streak of light tore 
its way downward, to be almost instantly followed 
by a growl and a grumble and a rattling, jolting 
roar of thunder that shook the stout cottage walls, 
terrified all the dumb beasts, and then subsided, 
dying hard in the dull echoes of the hills. I fol- 
lowed my brother out, for there promised to be a 
great exhibition. Now it grew darker than ordi- 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


237 


nary night, and in a hush before the coming conflict 
we could hear the sigh of wakening winds, and a 
strange, mournful murmur, still far distant, but gain- 
ing strength. “’Tis the rain,” explained mine host 
of the inn, who was also in the air. “ ’Tis the rain 
coming down long, and there’ll be a powerful sight 
of it here soon enough.” Then the thunder rolled 
out of heaven in earnest, and awful sign-manuals of 
God flamed hither and thither with zigzag of purple 
and gold. Great sheets of gleaming flame with 
forked tongues in their hearts swept up the valley, 
wdiile the barren hills above appeared to breathe fire 
also, and lightnings flashed upward as well as down. 
Then with a stupendous crash and a wave of hot air, 
and a blaze of twisted and twining brilliance that 
seared the eyeball and stamped itself on the retina, 
the climax came in tempest and torrent. 

I had been admiring my brother for some while. 
He stood fifty yards away on the meadow. He 
gazed fearlessly into the heavens, as Ajax probably 
gazed. But while it is sublime to face lightning, 
heavy rain appears another matter. There is no 
particular greatness in getting drenched to the skin 
for nothing. Neither does any nobility appear in a 
half -drowned man. Whether rain fell when Ajax 
scorned the thunder-bolt I know not, but if it did 
half the magnificence of the spectacle must have 
vanished. One point is pretty certain, however : 
Ajax was not wearing a new tweed suit at the time 
of his adventure, and probably very little of any- 
thing that would spoil. But we already know how 


238 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


the Doctor was dressed, and when the rain began 
he skipped in with great speed and gave over flout- 
ing the storm. Thus the sublime and ridiculous go 
hand in hand; they are twins, and nice judgment is 
often needed to say which is which. Taste alone can 
draw the line, as it does between bathos and pathos, 
and similar near relations, who, though wide as the 
poles asunder in their flights, yet so nearly mingle 
at certain points that to distinguish and define be- 
comes an art. 

The storm tore itself to pieces, and showed a 
thousand effects both wonderful and beautiful in the 
process. Lightning painted the foliage with un- 
earthly azure, against which the rain fell like a flood 
of fire, each drop gleaming for a second ere it was 
lost, and below which the earth sent upward a 
heavy steam. Then all vanished in darkness, and 
for a moment, after the thunder, we could hear the 
hiss of the rain, the tinkle of a thousand new-born 
rivulets, the heavy spouting and pattering of water 
from trees and roof-tops. 

I was sorry to observe my brother get his camera, 
and take it out to an open linhay or shed at the bot- 
tom of the garden. For a man in love (and as such 
I now regard him) to go abroad in thunder and be 
struck by the fire of heaven, and be brought back 
to his lady charred to a cinder, is fine and tremen- 
dous, and would read well either in a newspaper or 
a novel ; but to be destroyed by the electric fluid 
with your head in a bag or a photographic apparatus 
is a mean, wretched end. With such a death the 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


239 


public could not be expected to sympathize ; nor the 
girl, unless they were absolutely engaged. 

However, he had a fancy, in his present stormy 
state of mind, to go and photograph lightning, so 
he went, and in one blinding flash I saw him take 
the cap off. Whether the Doctor had secured that 
flash, or the flash had secured him and his tripod, I 
could not immediately be sure ; but presently my 
anxiety was relieved, for he returned in safety with 
two pictures, which he said he should send to Knowl- 
edge ;, if they came out as he hoped. 

So the storm rose and fell and raged. Twice it 
made as though it was going, and even started, but 
came back at the last moment. Finally it moved 
slowly off, with many a distant grumble and streak 
of fire ; and there arose a cool freshness through the 
night. A star peeped nervously forth, then another ; 
the rain stopped, though much foliage rained on, 
and, save the heavy drip, drip of water from leaf 
and bough and thatch, there came no sound but the 
rushing river, grown hoarse with great increase. 


240 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


CHAPTER XY. 

THE LAST FISHING EXCLUSION— LOCAL GEOGRAPHY— CLIFFS 
ABOVE A GREEN SEA — THE DOCTOR’S GREAT SILENCE — 
CASTLES IN THE AIR — ANOTHER DOG — SIMILES AND META- 
PHORS — NARCISSUS — THE MAN WITH A GUN — DOG OR 
FIEND ? — THE LONELY INN — ART — A MYSTERY — HEART- 
RENDING COMPLICATION WITH LOCAL COFFEE. 

i 

The golden sands of pleasure and leisure were 
fast running out for the Doctor and myself. In 
fact, some clear twelve hours alone remained to us, 
for to-morrow would see the village entertainment, 
and the day following our return to London. From 
the busy stream of life we have, as it were, beached 
our boats high and dry for a fortnight, but in three 
short days we shall launch forth once more. 

The Doctor is, as I have hinted, a man of cheer- 
ful mind in the concerns of life. Even his present 
tremendous experience does not render him unrea- 
sonable. The thunder-storm has cooled his brain ; 
and this morning, instead of seeking solitude and 
hating the sight of a near relation, as many in his 
fix might, he, with greater philosophy, faced exist- 
ence boldly, and declared that he should accompany 
me upon a farewell fishing excursion. For this I 
had marked down on our map some water so remote 
that an early train would be the first step to reach- 
ing it. 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


241 


And here, before proceeding, I am bound to mod- 
ify the praise I have just meted out to my brother, 
for his object in coming with me proved a selfish 
and malignant one, after all. He came simply that 
he might talk; and he did talk, upon one changeless 
subject, until in desperation I implored him to let 
me make a few remarks myself, or else start a fresh 
topic. He said : 

“ I thought you were interested, old chap.” 

“ Certainly,” I answered, “but interest has ceased. 
I was deeply engrossed and affected for the first two 
hours or so ; now I am saturated and sick of it. You 
can have too much of a good thing, as witness a fly 
in honey. Let me beg of you to leave this absorb- 
ing subject for twenty minutes, and then you will 
come back to it like a giant refreshed. After that 
brief rest you are sure to find your brain full of 
beautiful and original ideas, and I will listen pa- 
tiently, and even applaud if you make any pecul- 
iarly choice remark.” 

In answer, the Doctor admitted I might be right, 
and said that he should think a while, for a change ; 
which resolution taken, he became absolutely dumb 
while we compassed five miles. 

When the train dropped us at a certain spot on 
the Dartmoor railway, there was a trifling doubt as 
to our road and its length. We asked three men 
before leaving the station, and though all agreed 
about the road, their measurements differed consid- 
erably. Two spoke at once, and the disparity of 
their ideas concerning the walk before us was so 
16 


242 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


vast that I ventured to smile. Each declared his 
version to be the correct one, and then the third 
man cut in and named a number of miles exactly 
midway between the other statements. We left 
them at hammer and tongs upon it. All had known 
the place from boyhood, and could not be mistaken. 
Finally they grew heated, and sneered at one anoth- 
er’s geographical attainments, and wagered pints 
and pints of Burton ale, each backing his own opin- 
ion with this liquid. So we departed, feeling that 
it would be more practical to set about the walk, 
and decide for ourselves respecting its length when 
we reached the other end. 

After traversing a valley where forest and meadow 
mingled, with fields of shining stubble to break the 
green, we passed a stone bridge that led us under 
trees and across the stream we should presently fish, 
where it ran over high ground some miles farther 
on. Leaving this, we ascended by winding road a 
hill, from the side of which, when once above the 
tree-tops, a fine view with some novelty in it tow- 
ered before us. We saw a rugged mountain, but- 
tressed on precipitous cliffs, that rose over a sea of 
foliage. Above the gaunt escarpments there climbed 
a mighty tangle of oak and ash, with the eternal 
granite peeping through ; while, still higher, round- 
ed masses of stone formed the skull of the crag, and 
about them grew a wind-worn tonsure of blackthorn, 
in great contrast to the brighter robe of vegetation 
below. And here I was happy to notice a fact fine- 
ly observed by Professor Ruskin — viz., the vast dif- 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 243 

ference in architecture, whether that of nature or 
man, between a scowl and a frown. A frown may 
be the sign of power, but a scowl must be the sym- 
bol of passion, and, therefore, weakness. These in- 
land cliffs, full of light and darkness, with sunshine 
and ivy on their breasts, and the wild homes of many 
a daw and night-bird in their dim hearts — these 
rocky towers and battlements frowned indeed, and 
that fearfully under their forest brows and in their 
gloomy cavities ; but it was the frown of strength 
and potency, the frown of noble giants who rest 
from their labors, and dream of those mighty forces 
which brought them into being when the world was 
young. 

About this point of our journey the Doctor’s great 
silence came upon him and it lasted long. There is 
one among many grand advantages which thinking 
has over talking: that nobody can contradict you 
and wrangle and argue. You may maunder on and 
on and build castles in the air or in Spain or where 
you will ; you may plan your future and assume this 
fact and take for granted that other possibility and 
amuse yourself very pleasantly, without the fear of 
logic, or objection, or practical opposition ; which 
things are sure to crop up if you think aloud in the 
presence of a fellow-creature. I don’t suppose the 
Doctor is building a castle just now, but I strongly 
suspect his mind has projected a snug detached 
house, full of sanitary inventions, with a garden and 
lawn-tennis court and other reasonable luxuries. A 
chance incident brought words to his tongue at last. 


244 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


We were passing fir woods, bordered by the remains 
of an earthen hedge much broken and shattered, 
and clad with heath, grasses, and briers, and tun- 
nelled by many rabbits’ holes. Suddenly, with a 
squeak and a struggle, the apparition of a small black 
dog scrambled from one of these apertures, leaped 
eagerly in our direction, and behaved as though he 
had known us for many years. Then my brother 
spoke. He said : 

“ This beast must be miles from its home. It has 
been enjoying some rough-and-tumble sport on its 
own account, and noticing our rods, will conclude 
an entire day of hunting lies before it. If w T e en- 
courage it we shall never see the last of the animal.” 

We were therefore harsh to the dog, and told him 
to go home, or, failing that, elsewhere. He showed 
great disappointment, and made overtures of friend- 
ship first to one of us, and then the other, but noth- 
ing availed. My brother was adamant in the mat- 
ter, and at last the dog sat down sorrowfully in 
the road and watched our departure. Soon he 
changed his mind and began to creep after us ; see- 
ing which the Doctor stopped, challenged him to 
approach at his peril, and managed to get such an 
amount of gruff brutality into his voice that the dog, 
fairly alarmed, succumbed again in the road, and to 
all appearance gave up the struggle. We could still 
see him, after we had gone forward half a mile, ly- 
ing a motionless black speck in the distance. 

Anything more unsettled and various than the 
weather that morning I never met with. A rough 


FOLLY AN D FKESH AIE. 


245 


wind blew, and the whole moor was alive with little 
separate hurricanes, which dashed about between in- 
tervals of blue sky and sunshine. Many of these 
miniature tempests fled past, trailing their skirts 
within a thousand yards of us, but others found us 
right in their paths, and expended their fury upon 
our persons. The day, in fact, might have been com- 
pared to a lunatic with lucid intervals. I tried this 
simile on the Doctor with a view to rousing him, for, 
since defeating the dog, he had grown silent again. 
I spoke at length upon the subject of similes and 
metaphors, explained how numerous interesting and 
attractive fancies might be produced by them, and 
how they furnished trains of thought, which, if ig- 
nited, would often lead to most entertaining explo- 
sions. I told him that his favorite poet was full of 
luminous beauties born of them, and that, to my 
mind, simile and metaphor were the jewelry of po- 
etry, even as poetry was the jewelry of language. 
None of these reflections woke him up in the least, 
and I began to wish that even the dog would return 
to plague him into conversation, when it absolutely 
did do so. 

We had reached the stream, and were putting our 
rods up at the time, and the animal, who must have 
made a detour of miles to come at us, popped up 
again out of some rushes and approached, barking 
with joy. Neither in accent nor gesture did he 
make allusion to the past, and I noticed that he had 
waited for us at a spot where no missile of any kind 
was available. The Doctor stood in two minds when 


246 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


this dog thus threw himself upon our good-nature. 
He admired the beast’s cool courage, but resented 
his obstinacy. 

“If we let him stop,” he said, “he will have the 
laugh of us, because those only laugh who win ; if, 
on the other hand, we insist on his going, we shall 
perhaps feel a secret sense of shame at such churlish 
conduct to a stranger.” 

“ True,” I answered, “ and it is possible that he 
will refuse to leave us. It may be better to give 
way. There is, however, an element of danger for 
him in remaining, if he but knew it. Dogs are not 
allowed with fishermen, and should any official see 
him, he is likely to be shot or otherwise suppressed ; 
which must reduce his present merriment to a sort 
of Sardinian laugh on the wrong side of his mouth.” 

We finally permitted him to stay, and his delight 
was overwhelming. He tumbled over and over, 
barked, rushed for frantic excursions of twenty 
yards or so, tore imaginary rats out of imaginary 
holes, and endeavored to catch swallows on the wing. 
After this display of agility, just to give us some 
idea of the really valuable all-round dog he was, he 
sobered down, trotted steadily in front of us, just 
peeping over into the river and barking when he 
came to any place we particularly wanted to fish. 
He appeared the worst animal in the world to ac- 
company anglers. There was no thought or judg- 
ment or repose about him. His own reflection 
proved to be this dog’s most enduring solace and 
pleasure. Whether so great a love for his picture in 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


247 


water-colors was occasioned by conceit or by a be- 
lief that the stream contained aquatic dogs who de- 
sired to have a game with him, I could not judge. 
I called him Narcissus, and the Doctor called him 
something, too ; but he did not care, being evidently 
accustomed to exaggerated language. Presently a 
climax came. The dog lost his nerve and his bal- 
ance at the same moment, fell in off a bank, and 
went puffing and spluttering down stream into a per- 
fect pool the Doctor was just about to fish. Narcis- 
sus paddled with vigor right across and landed at 
the Doctor’s feet, shaking himself with triumphant 
barks. Then they had a fearful scene. My brother 
took up great rocks to cast at the dog, and would 
undoubtedly have stoned it to death had he not been 
a man of some self-control. As it was be struck the 
beast hard enough to make him howl and run to 
heel for ten minutes. But the physical pain wore 
off and the moral disgrace did not weigh with him, 
so presently he began to conduct himself as before. 

Then, who should suddenly appear but the volu- 
ble water-keeper ! We were all extremely glad, and 
he said that he had been hunting for us through the 
past ten days. His object was that he might show 
us the gun he had mentioned and so give us pleas- 
ure. We were smitten with admiration at the gun, 
and he was just giving a demonstration on it, going 
into choke-bores and so forth, when Narcissus swag- 
gered up to have a look also. The owner of the 
gun viewed this last arrival gloomily and shook his 
head. 


248 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


“ Gentlemen, gentlemen,” he murmured, “ you did 
ought to know better than that there. Dogs ain’t 
allowed, no how, and your cards sez it.” 

“ Of course they’re not,” answered the Doctor. 
“That is just what I’ve been trying to make this 
little brute understand. He’s no dog of ours.” 

I said : 

“ Don’t be too sure he is a dog. There’s much 
about him that makes me doubt it. He came out of 
a rabbit’s hole originally, and his behavior since has 
been both uncanine and uncanny. There are many 
weird legends about black dogs in this part of the 
world, and I repeat I cannot think him a true dog.” 

“We’ll see,” said the man with the gun, grimly, 
putting in a cartridge. Things were beginning to 
look rather bad for the dog, and the little beast 
grew uneasy himself, I thought. He evidently knew 
enough of guns to understand that when they were 
pointed at any living animals and discharged great 
changes came about. Narcissus sneaked up to the 
Doctor with all the devil (as far as one could judge) 
gone out of him. His tail showed an inclination to 
get between his legs, he whimpered slightly and 
talked with his eyes. Under these circumstances, 
though it was weak, considering the contrary nat- 
ure of the beast, my brother argued for him, and 
thought the gun rather too severe a test. I said : 

“If he is a dog, there can be no doubt you will 
blow his apology for brains out in half a second ; if, 
however, he is not a dog but an evil spirit as, I con- 
fess, seems likely, then the consequences of opening 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


249 


fire upon him may be very unpleasant for us all. He 
would probably change his shape when the shot 
struck him, and take some diabolic form and rend 
us with his talons and cast us about to feed crows.” 

“We are three to one,” suggested the Doctor, 
keeping the argument up gravely. 

“ What then?” I continued. “The devil is accus- 
tomed to much longer odds against him than that, 
and still holds his own very fairly.” 

The water-keeper had an idea. 

“I’ll give ’un both barrels,” he declared. “That’ll 
scat ’un to shivers whatever he be made of. I doubt 
her’s only a mongrel dog after all.” 

He evidently backed his two barrels against any 
fiend incarnate, and in another half minute Narcis- 
sus would very possibly have been “scat to shivers,” 
but Providence had further work for him and sent 
a substitute. A rabbit scurried away from where 
he was lying, not twenty yards off, and went loping 
over the heather in short, sprightly jumps to his bur- 
row. My brother pointed him out, and the keeper, 
who had his back turned, just found time to wheel 
round and make a snap-shot which ended bunny’s 
career three feet from home. We applauded this 
performance, and the sportsman was delighted. He 
said that snap-shooting was what he could do better 
than anything. We talked about the great feats he 
had performed from time to time, and he told us 
that the scar, which we might perhaps have noticed 
on his brow, was caused by the explosion of an old- 
fashioned muzzle-loader, which had gone off when 


250 


FOLLY AND FKESH AIK. 


he was getting through a hedge. We gave him 
much tobacco, and he said he had heard of the con- 
cert at Tavybridge and purposed being there. So 
we left him, having first luckily learned the way to 
a little inn not very far distant. We never counted 
on such a blessing as a hostlery in this remote dis- 
trict, but learning that the thing absolutely existed 
and was near at hand, we found our appetites grow 
sharp and the notion of a regular meal pleasant. 
Narcissus behaved far better after the death of the 
rabbit. He kept in the background, as became 
him, and evidently felt himself a wiser dog than he 
started. 

We found the inn, entered it, and observed through 
a red curtain which partially hid them from vulgar 
eyes, the landlord and his family just about sitting 
down to dinner. He bustled forward, took in the 
situation at a glance, and welcomed us. He was go- 
ing to carve a duck on the moment of our appear- 
ance, but it still awaited him, fat and juicy and inno- 
cent of the knife. He declared there was plenty of 
cold meat in the house for himself and family, and 
that we must have the duck. His wife supported 
him in this handsome idea, but the younger mem- 
bers of the circle, four in number, did not press the 
point, and gazed at us with unconcealed dislike. We 
refused ; we said it would be robbing his home cir- 
cle, but he took no denial. He implied that if there 
was any question of robbery, he would see to it him- 
self. He made a favor of it, and conducted us to an 
upper chamber, and his wife followed with the duck, 


POLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


251 


so there was nothing to be done but give way and 
eat it. I asked him to bring the best bottle of wine 
he could spare, and presently he did so. The Doctor 
and I agreed that his inferior vintages must have 
been exciting drinking. But the duck was all a 
duck should be, as also the junket and cream and 
the pipe of tobacco which crowned the revel. We 
asked him afterwards if he could manage coffee. 
He thought a moment, and then said he could. It 
would have been wiser and more honorable of the 
man to decline any attempt in the direction of cof- 
fee, but he was on his metal, and evidently deemed 
the experiment just worth making. 

During his absence we inspected an astounding 
gallery of drawings which adorned the walls of our 
apartment. They were quite unlike anything we 
had ever seen before, or even read about in books. 
One sketch especially struck us as being so absolute- 
ly without parallel in the whole history of Art, that 
to know something of its creator we felt would be 
desirable. The coffee was long in brewing, and 
when it finally appeared, we could see, from our 
host’s flushed face and labored breathing, that the 
resources of the establishment had been exhausted. 
His wife, I feared, was probably below in a faint. 
We asked him for a history of his pictures, and he 
said, with pride, that everybody who called there 
thought well of them. They had been painted by 
his grandfather, who never had a single lesson in 
the art or help from any one while he did them. 
The subjects were chiefly local, he informed us ; and 


252 


FOLLY AND FKESH AIK. 


lie was also good enough to explain certain subtile 
points in the paintings not transparently apparent. 
Finally, we drew up before the bewildering master- 
piece already mentioned. This our guide looked at 
sadly, and told us how the artist had died suddenly, 
of an apoplexy, before having time to put the finish- 
ing touches. We examined the lamentable produc- 
tion, and instinctively agreed that if ever a man de- 
liberately and suicidally courted sudden death, he 
who perpetrated this picture did so. A thunder-bolt 
from heaven must, speaking artistically, have been 
justifiable. We asked what it represented, or would 
have represented, had outraged Fate permitted him 
to complete it. The man confessed he did not know. 
Opinions upon that question were divided. Person- 
ally he inclined to a belief that the concern would 
have developed into a ship at sea ; others thought 
it had the makings of a portrait about it; while a 
third party again suspected it was a house, or else 
still life, or possibly cattle. We talked over it 
when the owner had gone. I hazarded a theory 
that it might be an earthquake, and the Doctor 
thought it was the pictorial result of softening of 
the brain. 

This speculation appeared reasonable, and we 
turned to the coffee, pleased that such a likely ex- 
planation of the picture had come to us. I took a 
sip and looked at my brother ; he sipped also an cl 
looked at me. His was a terrible look, and he told 
me afterwards that my look was pretty shocking 
also. Then I tried to smile, and he, putting on his 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


253 


fortiter in re expression, rose to ring the bell. I 
stopped him. I said : 

“ They have done their best ; everybody makes 
mistakes.” 

“ When it comes to mistaking rat poison for cof- 
fee,” he answered, “ I have no disposition to be mer- 
ciful.” 

I pointed out that the landlord was an artistic 
man, and, therefore, probably sensitive. I said : 

“It will hurt his feelings fearfully if we leave it 
in the cups.” 

The Doctor answered that he should not destroy 
himself to save a stranger’s feelings. 

“And I should be the last to suggest such a thing,” 
I replied. “ To drink it is, of course, out of the ques- 
tion — we both intend returning to town the day af- 
ter to-morrow ; but it may be possible to do away 
with it and leave no sign.” 

My brother caught the beauty of this idea in a mo- 
ment. His eagle eye almost immediately afterwards 
marked down a china bowl on the top of a lofty an- 
cient bookcase. Instantly, with the aid of a chair, 
he reached this vessel, and transferred the contents 
of his cup to it before one might count ten. He of- 
fered to do the same for me, but I refused. I had 
invented this clever scheme, and should dispose of 
my decoction as I thought fit. He went down to 
pay the bill and left me to carry out the design. Pre- 
monitory symptoms of guilt crept over me almost 
before I began. The room was full of china, but all 
the pieces struck me as being too conspicuous. I 


254 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


began to understand what murderers must feel when 
they have to get the “ lifeless flesh and bone ” out of 
the way. I reflected. It seemed absurd to make 
such a business of it. I even sipped the stuff again, 
which sip screwed me to the sticking point instant- 
ly, and brought an inspiration also. There was a de- 
cayed fern in the middle of the table, and it struck 
me, as a practical gardener in a small way, that what 
the thing wanted was coffee. “ If I give it some,” 
I said to myself, “it may sprout and throw out 
branches and become a tree-fern and the wonder of 
the country-side.” So I poured in a little, and the 
languishing vegetable seemed to shake its leaves 
and ask for more. I gave it more, and a grateful 
odor rose up and comforted the fern, and the boiling 
coffee penetrated to its very roots and warmed them 
and refreshed them. I was just tilting in the melted 
sugar at the bottom of the cup when somebody 
knocked at the door. This is always my miserable 
fortune. I have noticed it throughout life, that if 
ever I happen to be undertaking any little task in 
the least out of the common, some meddling soul is 
sure to surprise me. Why I said “ Come in ” I have 
never been able to explain to myself ; I meant to say 
“ Stop out.” But the landlord, for it was he, ac- 
cepted the spoken words and entered upon hearing 
them. His glad smile waned visibly when he saw 
his fern sending up a column of steam. He seemed 
more surprised than angry until he grasped the sig- 
nificance of the scene. Then he said it was a fern 
that wanted the most careful handling, and that he 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


255 


had been offered considerable sums of money for it 
by people who knew a good fern when they saw one. 
He upbraided me and almost wept. I assured him 
that I understood ferns as well as another, and I 
added that a little warm liquid, no matter what, was 
the best thing in the world for a fern so palpably 
out of order as this. He answered that the abomi- 
nable fern was merely moulting, or something of that 
sort, and in a delicate condition, when hot coffee was 
perhaps as bad for it as anything I could have used. 
Then I laid a trap for him. I said : 

“You mean to imply that I have maliciously poi- 
soned your old fern ?” 

He admitted that was the idea he wished to con- 
vey. 

“ Then,” said I, “ what right had you to send to 
me, for my own consumption, this highly dangerous 
beverage? If I tried to poison the fern, and if this 
stuff would have poisoned the fern, then you tried 
to poison me, and would have poisoned me if I had 
not, in self-defence, poisoned the fern. It may not 
be clear to yon, but it is as plain as daylight to me, 
that you should be arrested. You have decoyed an 
unsuspecting traveller into your inn with the object 
of assassinating him. What can you say to that?” 

He said the fern was honestly worth a shilling, 
but he would take ninepence. I gave him sixpence 
for it, and told him to look after it and tend it and 
till it, if necessary, against my return some years 
hence. The scene was practically over, and I had 
started to leave the room, when as painful and curi* 


256 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


ous a circumstance as ever I saw forced itself upon 
our notice. We heard a soft, pattering sound, which 
grew in intensity, and, looking round, beheld a col- 
umn of brown liquid — “ coffee,” the landlord said — 
falling from the top of a lofty bookcase and spread- 
ing upon the carpet below. I don’t know that I 
ever stood in a more awkward position. It was the 
Doctor’s affair, of course, and at first I thought of 
calling him up to carry it through himself. Then a 
nobler resolve animated me : I would sacrifice my- 
self and my reputation, such as it was, for a broth- 
er. Besides, it appeared better that this landlord 
should think he had to deal with one lunatic than 
with two. The man was very angry; I knew he 
would be; I should have been myself. He said it 
was strange for so-called gentlemen, etc., etc.; he 
declared I should pay for the carpet, etc.; he desired 
to know if I thought it fun, etc. 

I answered him upon the whole question. 

I said : 

“The position is simple and easy of explanation. 
I will tell you the truth. From foolish wishes to 
save you pain and not hurt your feelings, I endeav- 
ored, by a trifling deception, which chance and a 
leak in that china bowl have rendered futile, to so 
dispose of the coffee you sent up that you should 
think we had drunk it. Our keen consideration for 
your artistic nature was responsible for all. That 
you have found out where the coffee actually is 
amounts to nothing. You now see how we went 
out of our way to study you, how we showed a kind 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


257 


thought for you that not one tourist in a hundred 
would have shown. I do not say that you have en- 
tertained angels unawares, but I do say that few 
angels could have found a more refined and courte- 
ous method of studying how to save you pain. No, 
don’t apologize ; think no more of it. I, too, will 
try to put it out of my mind. And one last word : 
never, never again arrange coffee for anybody. It 
is not fair to yourself or the public. Few men 
would have taken it as good-temperedly as we have. 
It was terrible ; it was truly frightful. I should 
scarcely have thought the world held such a flavor. 
I had rather been born without the sense of taste 
than suffered it. I forgive, but can never forget. 
Good-morning. ” 

I kept it up all the way down-stairs and through 
the bar parlor and on into the open air, not allowing 
him time to say a word. The Doctor had gone for- 
ward, fortunately, so I started to overtake him. 

Altogether this affair appears, as I look at it from 
a distance, to have been uncomfortable and unseem- 
ly. There is evidently a danger in showing hyper- 
sensitiveness for other people’s feelings. One may 
put one’s self out and plan little kindly actions and 
so forth, and never get so much as a smile of thanks. 

17 


258 


FOLLY AND FKESH AIK. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

THE LAST OF NARCISSUS — BY A WOOD-FIRE — TREATING OF 
THE DOCTOR’S LITERARY EFFORT IN FIVE PIPES OF TO- 
BACCO-CRITICISM AND WEIRD SCENE OF NOCTURNAL COL- 
LABORATION — TIIE DREAM AND THE PICTURE — MORE 
CRITICISM— MY YOUTHFUL LOVE. 

I told the Doctor what had occurred, and he ex- 
plained how he should have acted if the thing had 
happened to him. He said it would have been bet- 
ter and more morally right to own frankly that I 
had played the fool and offer to pay for the carpet. 
Coming from him, I thought this particularly offen- 
sive. I said : 

“You ruined the carpet ; why don’t you go back 
and pay for it ?” 

He feared the matter had gone too far ; he assured 
me that a little soap and water would put the car- 
pet all right, and so avoided his responsibilities 
rather meanly. 

The fishing to-day was not very effective. We 
caught a dozen and a half between us, and then de- 
termined to start for home and have a wood -fire 
lighted, and make believe it was winter. The Doc- 
tor informed me, with a studied unconcern in his 
voice, that he wanted to do some private writing, 
and to-night would be a good opportunity. There 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


259 


is a sort of rehearsal of the concert to-morrow morn- 
ing, and Mrs. Lynn and her daughter propose to 
lunch with us. This last fact the Doctor suddenly 
announced. He said he had kept it a secret to de- 
light me with when I was least expecting such a thing. 

Narcissus now regarded himself as in our service. 
We started to walk back to the station, and he came 
too, as a matter of course. I hoped that when we 
passed the rabbit’s hole from which he had origi- 
nally emerged he might leave us again. And this I 
desired from no ill-feeling to the dog, because I liked 
him fairly well, though not well enough to keep. 
The Doctor said he might come to the station if he 
was minded to, but no farther. Neither of us pro- 
posed paying money for him to travel by rail. We 
had absolutely reached the platform, and were wait- 
ing for the train, when a man, with gaiters and oth- 
erwise arrayed in a fashion to suggest he understood 
horses, claimed the dog. He was noisy, and implied 
we had tried to seerete the animal from him. 

“No such thing,” said the Doctor; “don’t talk 
rubbish, sir. The dog was roaming on the moor, 
and fastened itself to us against our will. We have 
given it meat and drink, and saved it from being 
shot, as it richly deserved. If you value the dog, 
which is hard to understand, you ought to look af- 
ter him.” 

The man then thanked us for preserving his dog’s 
life. “ Tip,” he said, “ come here, you little brute,” 
upon which Narcissus, answering to his proper name, 
reluctantly withdrew. 


260 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


A vile letter awaited me on our return to Tavy- 
bridge. In order to explain it, I must tell you that 
I had recently despatched to my official colleagues 
a dozen very good trout, neatly packed in river 
grass and fern. They were not too large to be per- 
fect in the matter of flavor, and not small enough 
to be ridiculous ; nevertheless, those I regarded as 
friends acknowledged the gift thus : 

“Very dear Sir, — We, the undersigned, beg to 
thank you for the present of sardines which duly 
arrived and were eaten yesterday at noon by a 
committee of six, elected from the various depart- 
ments. The committee are of opinion that the 
tinned variety of this fish still holds its own. Con- 
gratulating you upon your success, and trusting that 
the trouble and labor of catching and carrying the 
victims of your skill is not too great a strain upon 
your strength, 

“ We remain, very dear sir, 

“Yours faithfully, 

“ X, Y, and Z (for the staff).” 

Now this is supposed to be funny. They expect 
that I shall laugh when I read it. I have come 
down here and toiled to catch mountain trout and 
caught them — all for this. I have endeavored to 
give other men a passing gleam of pleasure — for this. 
Humor is very well, but it cannot take the place of 
gratitude. Never be funny when you ought to be 
grateful. I did not want thanks, of course ; it was 




FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


261 


a privilege to send the fish ; but such a looking of 
gift trout in the gill has wounded my feelings 
deeply. 

We supped at nine o’clock, had our wood-fire, lis- 
tened to rough wind and beating rain outside, and 
prepared for a long, peaceful evening. 

The different stages in the Doctor’s literary labors, 
which I now intend to describe, may be counted by 
the pipes he smoked while engaging in his great 
conflict. For my own part I read a serious work 
— the volume I had bought for just such an evening 
as this. I sucked in mental nourishment from the 
book with my right eye, and kept the other fixed 
upon the Doctor. 

Pipe one : 

He sat and thought and scratched his ear, then 
drew several little diagrams on his blotting-paper. 
Suddenly he dashed at the virgin page before him, 
and wrote a single line with incalculable speed. 
After this, he flung himself back in his chair, and 
sighed as if the neck of his task was now broken. 
He picked up what he had written, and read it criti- 
cally and punctuated it. There is now no doubt 
that his work has nothing to do with his profession. 
He cannot be engaged upon a medical paper, be- 
cause, at this rate of production, therapeutics gener- 
ally will have made strides and left the beginning 
of his essay far behind long before he reaches the 
end of it. It may be a complicated prescription, 
but, in that case, the patient for whom it is intended 
will doubtless come to some conclusion with Hat- 


262 


FOLLY AND FEESH AIE. 


ure ere the Doctor has arranged his combination of 
drugs. 

Pipe two : 

More drawing of pictures followed on the lighting 
of this second pipe. Then he seized what he had 
written, roughly put his pen through it, and wrote 
another line underneath. After this he had a slight 
inspiration, and dashed off two more lines and sighed 
as before. My presence worried him ; but a man 
should learn how to compose with other people in 
the room, so I sat on. He continued to write and 
cross out. What struck him as excellent when it 
fell hot from the pen, his maturer judgment of five 
minutes later invariably rejected. Presently he be- 
gan on a second sheet of paper, and produced some 
fancy that evidently annoyed him, for he tore up 
this second leaf, destroying it on the very threshold 
of its career. From its remains he fashioned a spill, 
and lighted 

Pipe three : 

Now he started printing old English black-letter in 
an aimless, despondent way, and dropping blots about. 
Ink has an amazing knack of spreading itself if a man 
once allows it to get the upperhand. The first mod- 
est little excursion is onto a writer’s middle finger, 
from there it works towards the thumb, and if not 
instantly checked pushes forward to the cuff, and so 
on to the trousers, coat, face, and hair. If you once 
get the flavor of ink into your mouth — a thing 
which happens sometimes — all work had better be 
given up for the day. You will do no more good 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


263 


until you have had a bath and won back your self- 
respect with a clean shirt and pumice - stone. I 
watched the local ink — a grimy fluid full of foreign 
bodies — slowly getting the better of my brother. I 
feared all would soon be over, and had given him up 
for lost when, without a single note of warning, he 
hurled himself upon the page before him and wrote 
with all the speed and splutter of an old literary 
hand. His quill squeaked and screamed over the 
paper ; his third pipe went out — an excellent sign — 
and was not relighted. He completed the page and 
then sat down to read it with an air of power and 
successful achievement about him. But, as before, 
the investigation of his work gave him pain rather 
than pleasure. He consigned further manuscript to 
the flames, knocked the half -burned tobacco from 
pipe three and loaded 

Pipe four : 

I said : 

“ You are not getting on, old chap.” 

lie answered : 

“Ho Pm not. I’m doing a thing rather out of 
my line.” 

“A medical affair?” 

“ Good heavens ! I shouldn’t sit here eating 
quill pens and sprinkling ink about if I was engaged 
on anything professional. To tell you the plain 
truth, Pm trying my hand at a bit of verse — a poem, 
in fact.” 

“ What kind of poem ?” 

“ Can’t say for the life of me now. It was clear 


264 


FOLLY AND FEESH AIE. 


as daylight when I started, but I fail to see any way 
out of it at present.” 

“ JD’you want ideas ?” 

“Ideas! Ideas have ruined the thing. I’m full 
of ideas. I cannot keep them down ; they boil out 
of me and get in each other’s way and tangle them- 
selves up and make writing impossible. Besides, 
look at the ink. Swinburne and Tennyson couldn’t 
do any good with ink like this.” 

“ What is the metre?” 

“ There’s none to speak of. I’ve given up trying to 
rhyme ages ago. This is blank verse — awfully easy 
to write, but doesn’t sound much to read somehow. 
There’s a classical sort of ring about it, too — at least, 
so it struck me. What I want is a kind of chaste 
amatory poetry, and I can’t produce it.” 

“ I suppose I may not see what you have done ?” 

“ Certainly not.” 

“ Well, take my advice and make the thing have 
rhymes in it. Good rhyme is a cloak that sometimes 
covers the most naked verses. Not that yours would 
need covering.” 

“ All very well to talk, but look at the difficulty. 
Take the word Lynn, for instance. It rhymes with 
‘gin’ and ‘sin’ and ‘bin’ and ‘grin’ and ‘inn’ and 
‘twin’ — there, how are you going to get chaste po- 
etry out of that?” 

“ You go about it the wrong way. There is any 
amount to do to a poem before you begin to write it.” 

“Well,” said the Doctor, generously, “I’ll let you 
help.” 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


265 


“ Thanks, old chap.” 

“Not at all. I have the ideas, I only need a man 
who can rhyme. Now begin.” 

He pushed the paper and ink over to me. 

“ First, what do want ?” I asked. 

“ Something neat and tasteful, and absolutely 
original. It must be sincere and heart-felt, but not 
silly. We could introduce Psyche — in fact, I wish 
Psyche to be introduced ; then just a light touch 
about lawn-tennis, and so forth. And, by-the-bye, I 
have a rather happy rhyme noted down here : ‘nose’ 
and ‘ suppose’ — you might work with that. I couldn’t 
myself, but you might.” 

“ Is that all you have to suggest?” I inquired. 

The Doctor looked hurt. He said : 

“ Hang it, that’s enough for one poem. I w T ant it 
to be quite short: four verses or stanzas, or qua- 
trains, or whatever you call them. If the production 
makes a hit, then I shall tackle something more am- 
bitious.” 

“All right. We will try a modest start, and aim 
at originality, if such a thing still exists. For in- 
stance, we might do an e ode to an elbow,’ or to 1 ten 
little toes,’ or some other part of the sweet girl that 
poets habitually overlook.” 

The Doctor frowned. I do not think he liked my 
mentioning Miss Lynn’s toes; but she has toes — 
probably delightful toes, for some people’s feet are 
prettier than other people’s hands. My brother 
said : 

“ Don’t begin yet ; you have nothing like caught 


266 


FOLLY AND FKESH AIK. 


the spirit I want. This is not to be a funny 
poem.” 

“ How shall we cast it ?” I asked ; “ in what mould 
shall it appear? Shall we be quaint or matter-of- 
fact, sedate or fanciful? Shall we be massive and 
sublime and cold as sculptured marble, or delicate 
and subtle and fiery? Shall we be angular with the 
blazing crookedness of lightning and the abrupt 
flight of the weird bat, or smooth and soft as the 
summer murmuring of bees or distant river? What 
say you to an acrostic or the ringing of stornello 
changes? Is your command of foreign languages 
sufficient to warrant a Macaronic medley, or would 
simple and essentially English verse suit you better? 
Again, shall we — ” 

“ Oh, shut up,” said the Doctor, very rudely ; 
“ begin and let the thing shape itself as it will. I 
don’t believe in all this preamble. The matter is 
more important than the manner. You know ex- 
actly what to say ; say it in the most beautiful dic- 
tion at your command.” 

“I have 4 then to make a poem with Psyche and 
lawn-tennis and Lucy Lynn?” 

“Yes; grand material, too. Poetry should prac- 
tically write itself, given such a trio of subjects as 
these.” 

“ And yet it has not,” I said, glancing at the Doc- 
tor’s abortive litter. 

“ Don’t argue,” he answered. “ I frankly own that 
nothing which will live has been produced by me up 
to the present time, but the night is still young; 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


267 


much may be done by combined effort before >. 
dawn.” 

I did not propose sacrificing hardly-earned rest in 
the writing of poetry to another man’s love. What 
I hoped to set down would be finished hours and 
hours before dawn, or not at all. I said : 

“ It is now midnight, save for five short minutes. 
This thing must be done before one o’clock, or post- 
poned indefinitely. I am already sleepy, my sense 
of sight is at fault, my other senses are also growing 
unreliable. An hour hence, if awake at all, I shall 
be no better than an imbecile — in a condition when 
a man might lose all self-control, and even allow 
himself to write a modern drawing-room song. Let 
us, therefore, begin at once.” 

The Doctor lighted pipe five : 

I throw a veil over that wild, savage scene of 
collaboration ; that orgy of flying adjectives ; that 
riotous carnival of metaphors and figures ; that noc- 
turnal wrestling with rhyme ; those bitter and un- 
brotherly differences, bred out of hot energy and 
impossible ideas on the one hand, calculating cold- 
ness and some sense of proportion and a desire to 
sleep on the other. The effort reached an end near 
one o’clock, amid heavy incense of tobacco - smoke, 
the sacrifice of many sandwiches, and libations of 
fortified soda-water. 

“ I’ve never worked harder in my life,” said the 
Doctor; “this verse - writing is fearful labor. It 
ought to be better paid. What do you call the thing 
— an ode or a sonnet ?” 


268 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


“ Neither,” I explained ; “ we may describe it as a 
sort of rondeau, but by no means classical in shape ; 
far from it.” 

“ Oh, a sort of a rondeau ; well, I shall never help 
at another affair of this kind. I feel years older for it.” 

I fear this effort must not be withheld. You who 
have heard of the struggle that went to fashion it 
should, in justice, be presented with the finished 
article. One thing I would suggest, however: do 
not criticise; leave that to the Doctor. You shall 
find he will be far more severe than your charity 
would ever permit you to be. 

“ Let us see how it reads from the beginning,” said 
my brother, and thus exhorted, I gave him the entire 
work, interspersed with yawns. 

THE DREAM AND THE PICTURE. 

May I whisper the dream of my heart when I saw 
A first vision of thee on the day that we met ? 

LQvely Queen of my hopes and my fears, may I draw 
The fair picture I love and can never forget? 

’Tis a dear little maid in a garment as white 
As the butterfly fluttering over her head — 

Poor insect, thou’lt ne’er fiud a violet so bright 
As her soft, sunny eyes, or a rosebud so red 
And so sweet as her mouth. She is graceful as thou, 
Blessed with beauty more rare than the blushes of spriug. 
Summer sunbeams are kissing the gold on her brow; 

Nature smiles where she moves ; at her laugh the birds sing. 
Yet all vainly I’ve striven, for far, far above 

This weak pen to portray is that picture supreme! 

But a faint, thrilling hope lingers still — oh, my love, 

May I whisper the dream? 


POLLY AND FRESH A1E. 


269 


“ How does it strike you ?” I inquired. 

“ Candidly ?” lie said. 

“ Of course, candidly. That word ‘ candidly,’ I 
may tell you, has been the preface to some of the 
most unpleasant scenes in my life ; but in this case 
you will be practically criticising yourself. I should 
never have produced the affair unless I had been 
driven into it.” 

“Well,” he began, “speaking generally, I do not 
like the poem ; it says too much and too little. The 
first and last lines amount to a proposal, which, of 
course, is monstrous ; the body of the work appears 
to me cold and artificial. And you have left Psyche 
out and not alluded even remotely to lawn-tennis. 
No, I won’t pretend I think highly of it.” 

“As to Psyche,” I said, “there is a butterfly in 
the thing, which is near enough, and lawn - tennis 
must have been utterly out of place, as you would 
see if you had not smoked yourself almost idiotic. 
F or my own part I like least the seventh line. White 
butterflies and violets do not, I fancy, appear at the 
same time ; to talk to a white butterfly of a violet, 
therefore, is ill-judged; the insect would probably 
know nothing of that flower.” 

“ Absurd quibble !” said the Doctor. “ Great 
poetry does not deal with nice, curious, idle petti- 
nesses of that sort. One does not look to beetle- 
hunters or microscopists, or exact, accurate, truth- 
ful people, for poetical thought. That’s why I came 
to you. The rondeau, or whatever you call it, has 
missed fire ; not through any mean error that might 


270 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


be rectified, but entirely and hopelessly. The scope 
of the thing and the spirit of it are wrong. It 
couldn’t be more lifeless if you had written it for 
money.” 

“ Be definite,” I said ; “ to crush is not criticism, 
or, at best, only unintelligent criticism, which is 
none.” 

He made answer : 

“ The point can be cleared in a dozen words. This 
poem purports to come from a man in love, but by 
internal evidence it is easy to see the writer was not 
in love at all, and that ruins it.” 

“ There you have me,” I admitted ; “ I am not in 
love. It is, in fact, many years since I was. If, as 
you say (who are in love, and therefore a judge) no 
erotic element is apparent, then we have failed.” 

“ If you have really been in love,” said my brother, 
“there is no doubt you have thoroughly got over it.” 

<£ Long years have elapsed since then,” I answered ; 
“ the passion did not even tinge my life, but it was 
a real living thing. I could never love like that 
again.” 

The Doctor grew rather interested to find that 
I, too, had suffered. “ Sacred, of course,” he mur- 
mured ; “ not a thing to be talked about.” 

“On the contrary,” I explained to him, “the 
matter was never a secret. We made love in broad 
daylight, under the eye of the busy world. We did 
not spoon in corners or play the fool, like adult lov- 
ers. We loved boldly and openly, and pertinaciously 
wherever and whenever we met I was six years 


FOLLY AND FEESH AIR. 


271 


old at the time ; she was a spinster of uncertain age : 
probably four or thereabouts.” 

“ That wasn’t love,” asserted the Doctor. 

“ It was,” I said, warmly, “ and love worth a thou- 
sand grown-up affairs. There was no question of 
family, or means, or prospects, or earthly hinderances. 
We loved like the cherubs, who are all tangled gold 
hair and ruby mouths and wings, with no bodies to 
bother about. I never proposed marriage ; I didn’t 
dream there was such an artificial invention. I did 
not even know her name ; I don’t believe she did 
herself. But she loved me better than her nurse or 
anybody in the world, and I felt the same to her.” 

“ Twaddle,” said the Doctor. 

“ You invited the confidence,” I answered. “ You 
must now hear all. It is the only romance in my 
life, or likely to be. We met in summer-time by the 
yellow sands. We cast glances of mutual admira- 
tion at each other, and I introduced myself over a 
dead starfish. She accepted the starfish and my 
heart. In half an hour we were living solely for 
one another. We built castles in the sand — none 
in the air, for we were purely practical — we erected 
turrets, dug moats and filled them from the sea. 
When water became necessary, her attendant would 
transform my loved one into a small human peg-top. 
I, too, at these times, doffed stocking and sand-shoe 
that I might accompany her into the ocean. Hand 
in hand we faced the great waters ; hand in hand 
we defied the billows (they were only little summer 
ripples, I suppose); hand in hand we filled our buck- 


272 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIK. 


ets, or, perhaps, with miniature net sought to ensnare 
the merry shrimp. Occasionally we wandered over 
sea-weed-covered rocks and under cliffs where there 
were deep pools with the fragments of shells, bits 
of frosted glass, crabs’ claws, and other things worth 
keeping. At such times I played Perseus to her 
Andromeda, rescuing her from defunct jelly-fish and 
like dangers of the deep. A fortnight of this unut- 
terable joy quickly sped, and then came the crushing 
end. At the close of that period, her father, whom 
she had pointed out to me once or twice, reading and 
smoking upon the beach, thought it proper to nip 
our young affections in the bud, and return whence 
he came. I blamed him bitterly at the time, but 
looking back, I feel more charitable, and have little 
doubt he knew his own business best. That business 
probably admitted of no further delay ; so my soul’s 
idol was lost to me. She did not know her address, 
and even if she had, a love-letter, in spite of what I 
felt for her, would have cost more sustained labor 
and anxiety to produce than consolation to send. 
The next day my world was blank, the yellow sands 
were desolate, a cruel sea had come by night and 
washed away our last castle ; and my treasure was 
not there to build a new one. I thought my heart 
must break, and it probably would have done so but 
for a big male friend of mine — a mariner, who of- 
fered to take me out in a boat. The pang of that 
sad separation was thus rendered supportable, but, 
as you see, I never forgot her. She must be six-and- 
twentv years old now, may perhaps revisit from time 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


273 


to time the scenes of her tender youth, or possibly 
watch the play of fresh little human peg-tops in 
which she has personal interest. But that she, too, 
recollects her first courtship by the ocean, I can 
scarcely suppose ; she w^as but four, remember, and 
her sex has been known to forget similar affairs of 
the heart at even a later age than this.” 

I looked for some reply to these lengthy recollec- 
tions, but none came. The Doctor had gone to sleep! 
Thus love, like hunger and gout and success, ren- 
ders men egotistical. 

18 


274 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

VARIOUS PRELIMINARIES TO A NOTABLE EVENING — THE 
EQUILIBRIST — A LAST TROUT — MRS. VALLACK ORGANIZES A 
BANQUET — PROGRAMMES — EGGS AND BOTTLES — THE DOORS 
ARE OPENED — GREENROOM MYSTERIES — A FULL AND PAR- 
TICULAR ACCOUNT OF THE CELEBRATED TAVYBIIIDGE PEN- 
NY READING, EMBRACING THE PERFORMERS, THE AUDIENCE, 
AND THE ULTIMATE ARTISTIC AND PECUNIARY TRIUMPH 
THEREOF. 

“No power of man shall ever induce me to sing 
at a Penny Reading.” 

This strong assertion fell from my lips at break- 
fast on the morning of the local entertainment ; and 
it was in a measure dragged from me by the repeated 
importunities of my brother. The professional who 
was coming in some hazy capacity from Plymouth 
now writes to regret that private concerns prevent 
him from doing so. The Doctor thus finds himself 
an item short on the programme, and, as a result, at- 
tacks me with alternate threat and cajolement. I 
sing a little, quite unambitiously, in private, it is 
true, but my voice is not a Penny Reading voice, 
my songs are not Penny Reading songs ; and as to 
“ The Death of Nelson,” which the Doctor is now 
making a dead -set at me about, I would no more 
presume to enter upon such a classic before an audi- 
ence that has paid money, or in fact any audience at 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


275 


all, than I would go and be musical outside a public 
hostlery. I said : 

“ I am willing to do any modest service in my 
power ; I cannot undertake impossibilities. I will 
sit in the ticket-box at the entrance, or see the peo- 
ple to their seats, or call carriage's afterwards ; I will 
look after the ventilation, if there is any, or watch 
the illumination of the stage. That would be valu- 
able aid, because entertainments of this kind fre- 
quently catch fire when you least expect or desire 
them to do so. Again, I might turn over music in 
a general way for everybody ; I might introduce 
each performer in a few well-cliosen words. If you 
give me a little hammer, I will be the chairman and 
keep things going, and fill any unforeseen pause with 
bright conversation. Why, there are thousands of 
trifles I might do.” 

“All the tasks you have mentioned,” answered the 
Doctor, “ with the exception of that undertaken by 
a chairman, I shall perform myself. Nothing must 
be left to chance. A chairman would fall into one 
of two mistakes : either vulgarize the entire per- 
formance, or else make it prosy and dull. No, you 
can only help by appearing in the programme. You 
may recite or sing, or ‘vamp’ on the piano, if you 
think you have the nerve for it, or anything you 
like. Surely a man of your age, with some educa- 
tion and experience of life in cities, is equal to amus- 
ing a thick-headed crowd of laborers for five or six 
minutes. You know you are.” 

“I might do some quaint feats with lawn -tennis 


2?6 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


balls,” I ventured to suggest. “A little juggling 
perhaps would please them.” 

The Doctor’s face fell. He was too polite to say 
anything ; in fact he could not, for he had just given 
me a free hand ; but he looked much. Finally, see- 
ing I was waiting for his opinion on this idea of 
mine, he spoke. He said : 

“You don’t think such a display would be be- 
neath you, old man ?” 

“ Hot a bit, old chap,” I answered, cheerily. “ I’m 
far from proud. If you permit yourself to play a 
banjo, who am I that I should set myself up and en- 
deavor to do anything in the least high-class ?” 

“You need not be offensive,” he said. “Princes 
play the banjo, and it is a beautiful instrument right- 
ly understood ; but I have yet to learn that feats 
with knives and balls, or exhibitions of manual dex- 
terity involving candles and wineglasses are social- 
ly desirable or possible. I suppose you will want a 
dirty little square of old carpet, and a pair of ‘tights,’ 
and spangles on your chest, and other low* surround- 
ings. If you propose to use wineglasses or any- 
thing that will probably be broken before you have 
done with it, you must buy them yourself.” 

I said : 

“ Leave me to see about the performance. I shall 
not appear in ‘tights,’ though I may remark that 
that is no worse than bursting on an audience with 
a black face and a movable wig, which is a thing I 
have known you to do before to-day. Let us avoid 
recrimination. I shall use new-laid eggs chiefly in 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


277 


my entertainment. If these break, as may happen, 
I can injure nobody. My apparatus will further 
consist of empty black bottles.” 

“You must take the consequences, that’s all,” said 
the Doctor. “You have never performed in public, 
to my knowledge, and it is quite a different matter 
doing tricks to amuse your family on Christmas, 
night, after everybody has dined and will be pleased 
with any foolery, to performing before critical 
strangers who want their money’s worth. There 
will be Justices of the Peace in the audience, too.” 

“You won’t alarm me,” I said. “When I once 
get wound up to carry a fantastic thing of this kind 
through, the devil himself would not frighten me 
out of it. Recollect it has been thrust upon me. I 
did not seek the fame and reputation that I shall 
probably win to-night. If your show falls flat, and 
the violin-player fails, and so on, and I and my eggs 
and bottles take the house by storm, you will have 
yourself to thank for it, not me. I merely bargain 
for a good place in the second half of the programme, 
and that the stage-door shall be left open, so that in 
case of any misunderstanding or contretemps , it will 
not be necessary for me to loiter about in the hall 
explaining.” 

“ I shall call you an Equilibrist in the bill,” said 
the Doctor, gloomily ; “ and recollect,” he added, 
“ that your performance must only last five minutes 
at the outside. When I say, ‘ Come off,’ you’ll have 
to come.” 

Then finishing his breakfast, he strolled out to 


278 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


look at the preparations, and see how the stage was 
getting on. I may here say of the Doctor, that he 
is honestly a very good public entertainer. lie has 
been constantly taken for a professional performer ; 
I can remember the time when his services were in 
considerable demand, and when he certainly made 
more out of his banjo than his calling. But that 
was in the days of his hospital career, when he lacked 
his present liberal qualifications for healing and 
mending in every direction. In the past he could 
unbend the bow as well as another. IJpon occa- 
sion he would don what is popularly supposed to be 
Ethiopian attire, and speak about “ De Massa ” and 
“ Brudder Bones” and “De gals,” and so forth; he 
would also sing grotesque melodies, and roll his eyes, 
and wear boots many sizes too large — all very amus- 
ing and excellently well done. Now, however, his 
performances are of a different character. He pro- 
duces his effects in modern evening-dress, and ap- 
pears of the color he was born. He gets marvellous 
results from the banjo, imitates cattle and crowing 
of cocks, and such matters ; while at times he plays 
through pieces of proper printed music, which is in 
itself an impressive and convincing thing to see 
done. That he will succeed to-night, and get “ en- 
cores ” and other manifestations of approval, there 
can be no ground for doubt. But there is little rea- 
son to anticipate anything of the kind for me. “ No 
matter,” I said to myself ; “ to-morrow sees the last 
of me here, and these Devon folks bear no malice.” 

The Doctor had now made an end of fishing. His 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


279 


time until the day was done would be far too valu- 
able to squander in amusement of any sort. But I, 
while purposing great preparations for my own share 
in the entertainment, saw no reason to begin them 
until the afternoon. Two hours remained to me, 
and these I filled with a last brief angling expedition 
on the home stream. Nothing much came of it, 
probably because I fished without concentration, but 
a languid melancholy, rather, and no particular de- 
sire to kill. To such lengths, indeed, did I carry 
these aimless efforts, that when, with a cast that 
was destined to be a final one, I caught a trout of 
reasonable size, I weakly permitted him to depart 
whither he came, feeling that one trout more or less 
was of no consequence, and determining that as my 
first fish had been spared, even so should my last. 
Then I packed up the gear and placed my inestima- 
ble rod within its case for a long rest, the duration 
of which none might foretell. 

I had always suspected that the Doctor exercised 
much greater power with our landlady than was at 
any time possible for me, and on returning to lunch 
all doubt upon the question vanished. The prepara- 
tions for our meal appeared absolutely regal. There 
were napkin-rings and salt-spoons, and hyperbolic 
refinements of that kind that fairly took my breath 
away. There w T ere cut-glass dishes fringed with 
leaves, and separate cruets, and a red wineglass and 
two green ones. Give me a green wineglass if you 
want style. The dessert fascinated me. There were 
nut-crackers with it, and an air of solid capital and 


280 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


lavish expenditure that black grapes and three-cor- 
nered nuts invariably engender in my mind. The 
landlady was putting finishing touches when I en- 
tered, and smiled at seeing me quite overcome. I 
said : 

“ Dear, bless my life, madam ! what banquet is 
this?” 

“Mrs. Lynn and her daughter do lunch along of 
us to-day,” she explained. “I knew as how your 
brother would like to see what I can do if I’m put 
to it.” 

“It is grand and astounding and amazing,” I de- 
clared. “ Why, the very wasps are sobered. I see 
them walking about in those plums, whispering un- 
der their breath to one another, and polishing them- 
selves up to do everything justice. I had no notion 
you could arrange a table of this kind. I wish I 
had known more of your resources, for I should then 
have asked for those salt - spoons sooner. A salt- 
spoon is a thing I have almost a passion for.” 

The lunch was a great success. Mrs. Lynn had 
the red wine-glass, the Doctor and Miss Lynn shared 
the green ones. I had none, which to a certain ex- 
tent ruined my personal pleasure, but I tried not to 
show it. Conversation ran upon the concert. The 
pocket Wliiteley, ever in the van of human progress, 
has been found to possess some invention by which 
a lithographed programme will be possible. The 
Doctor has purchased the entire apparatus, with pa- 
per and purple ink, and speaks hopefully. Pro- 
grammes, as Miss Lynn says, will be an additional 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


281 


source of income to the performance, and I suggest, 
having regard to these subtle, reproductive, indeli- 
ble inks, that the Doctor may at the last moment 
appear as a purple Doctor, which, if it gets about, 
will also draw money. 

I gather that there is to be a duet between the 
banjo and the Doctor on one hand, and Miss Lynn 
and the piano from Plymouth on the other. This 
has been rehearsed during the morning, and, it is 
believed, will attract. Much may come of a duet 
in many directions. 

The concert was timed for eight, and it now be- 
ing two o’clock, I determined to begin cultivating 
such equilibristic talent as I might possess without 
delay. We saw the ladies drive off; my brother 
hurried to the privacy of his chamber with the lith- 
ographic paraphernalia ; I, not daring to tell Mrs. 
Vallack upon what desperate business I was en- 
gaged, merely begged the loan of some empty bot- 
tles at once, and let her know that I should require 
about a dozen eggs later on. I very nearly asked 
her to boil them hard. This would much have sim- 
plified my coming labors, but the great beauty of 
feats with eggs is to break them afterwards, so the 
audience may see your skill is genuine. I removed 
the bottles into the open air, as being more roomy ; 
hid myself with them in a tangled wood, where none 
but birds and beasts could behold the display, and 
practised. The results were reasonably gratifying, 
and after an hour’s exertion I almost regretted that 
I had not taken this occupation up professionally. 


282 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


If, perchance, I had been born the son of a circus 
clown or wild beast proprietor, I had probably en- 
tered the arena in youth, and this natural bent for 
keeping empty bottles flying about in the air might 
have been developed and ended in fame. I returned 
heated and confident ; I even for a moment dreamed 
of borrowing the landlady’s colored wineglasses, 
but put the idea away as both dangerous and un- 
principled. If she lent them to me in ignorance, 
and I was unfortunate with one of them under the 
glare of the public eye, she would probably abuse 
me before the audience, and cause a painful hitch 
in what might otherwise be a perfectly successful 
affair. 

The Doctor had prepared no less than one hun- 
dred programmes. The earlier impressions were 
very beautiful and fairly legible, but the last five- 
and-twenty looked like ghosts, as though they had 
been all right once, but suffered since from some 
great terror. My brother was printed all over with 
scraps of information about the concert. These bills 
of the entertainment will be sold for threepence and 
a penny. The “ artists’ proofs,” so to speak, are ex- 
pected to command the larger sum ; the pale, hag- 
gard-looking programmes will go more cheaply. 

At seven o’clock the Doctor, having tuned his 
banjo to a nicety, placed it in the case and marched 
off to the hall. Doors open at half-past seven, and 
he, of course, must be firmly seated in the ticket- 
office before that great moment with his “passes” 
and myrmidons and other necessaries about him. A 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


283 


quarter before eight I strolled down to the place of 
entertainment, and bestowed my eggs and bottles 
safely in the “ greenroom.” Here, whom should I 
meet but our old friend the Exponent ! He had un- 
dertaken to play a cornet and conjure, and the pros- 
pect of these combined displays caused him great 
uneasiness. When he heard what I was going to do, 
it cheered him. “ We must both hope for the best,” 
he said. Miss Lynn’s friend was already prostrate 
with terror at the thought of what lay before her. 
She had, moreover, lost her music entirely, and rath- 
er fancied it was now in a train rushing into Corn- 
wall. General Lynn had sent over a hamper of cool- 
ing drinks for the performers, and I suggested a glass 
of champagne for the fair violinist. The Exponent, 
who gained confidence from the misery of others, 
said he failed to see how champagne would take the 
place of music, when it came to actually going on 
the stage ; which was in a measure true, but utterly 
demoralized the performer. The Bell-ringers were 
there in Sunday raiment. They feared nothing, be- 
ing used to public exhibitions of their skill ; whether 
they would like being called Campanologists re- 
mained to be seen. 

I then went round to learn how matters were 
progressing elsewhere. A goodly audience trooped 
steadily in, and the Doctor was taking the money 
and issuing directions. He refused to recognize me 
for some paltry reason. I resented this pride of 
place. 

“ Things going all right?” I asked. He answered : 


284 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


“Pass along, please; pass along! Don’t block the 
gangway.” 

The Lynns had arrived and taken front seats. 
There were clergymen with them. The house filled 
rapidly. The boy Blank was getting the audience 
nicely seated; his friend Jones vended programmes 
and moved about with a pleasant jingle of copper 
coin. These efforts on his part will qualify him for 
entrance to the “greenroom” — a thing to be regret- 
ted. The stage was beautifully decorated with ferns 
and flowers. Miss Lynn and the pocket Whiteley 
had seen to this. I noted that if anything went 
wrong with my own performance, the high-priced 
seat-holders would be bound to suffer, whereas the 
cheaper parts of the house might escape. Person- 
ally, I should be able to get clear off through a side 
door. At eight o’clock the building was quite full 
and the programmes all sold. The Doctor then re- 
linquished his post, told the policeman at the en- 
trance to charge sixpence a head for the remaining 
standing room, emptied the boy Jones of his copper 
hoard, and came “ behind ” laden with capital. This 
he counted while the first item of the entertainment 
was in progress. Of the concert it is only fair to 
those concerned that I should mention none or all. 
Selection in such a case would be as odious as com- 
parison. I have private opinions concerning the af- 
fair, but desire to record facts rather than criticise 
failings. Critics give an audience greater credit for 
judgment than they often confess, and are more in- 
fluenced by the public than the public knows. In 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


285 


this case results were entirely happy, and I shall 
therefore assume the performance was meritorious. 

A brief note of each item and its effect may here 
be appended : 

No. 1. Song, “ The Wolf.” 

This was rendered by our semi-detached friend, 
the landlord of the inn. Its success appeared great, 
and would have been greater had not Miss Lynn 
kindly played the accompaniment. This unhappily 
produced a suggestion of raggedness, because the 
singer introduced certain novelties into his song 
which the composer had neither foreseen nor pro- 
vided for. The jovial Bung never sang from music 
himself, and was unaccustomed to any instrumental 
aid. Miss Lynn, however, did wondrous well, ap- 
peared to know pretty much where the vocalist was 
going, and generally had some piano -forte back- 
ground for even his wildest innovations. Effect : 
Applause. 

No. 2. Piano Solo, “ Grand Polonaise in A Flat.” 

Miss Lynn was responsible for this, and played 
with brilliancy, the only thing in the least flat about 
her performance being the key. The Doctor turned 
over the pages, apparently at the right times, and 
bowed her off afterwards. Effect : Magnificent. 
Loud and sustained applause, and an encore only 
avoided because the Bell-ringers marched on to the 
stage too soon. 

No. 3. Campanology. 

The low-priced seat- holders were disappointed 
when they saw their personal friends appear. What 


286 


FOLLY AND FEESH AIE. 


they had expected none knew, hut nothing would 
have surprised them. A troup of trained Mastodons, 
introduced by the Doctor, might have been greeted 
with pleasure; the Bell-ringers’ well-worn melodies 
produced very little. Effect : Hearty clapping of 
hands from the stalls, neutrality from the pit, stolid 
and absolute indifference on the part of the enter- 
tainers. 

No. 4. Banjo Solo, “ Scotch Medley.” 

The Doctor came forward with a chair in one 
hand, his banjo in the other. He bowed, sat down, 
and plunged into a most intricate affair unquestion- 
ably Scotch in nature, with a suggestion of a hun- 
dred airs about it. He ended by imitating a bag- 
pipe drone so admirably that one of the clergymen, 
who was very young, and went by the name of Mac- 
Tavish (though a Church of England man) arose, 
boiling over with patriotism, and gave utterance to 
short ejaculations that one connects with reels and 
sword-dances and whiskey. The Doctor assured us 
afterwards he had never received such a compliment. 
Effect: An encore. This produced a comic song, 
which in turn was responsible for loud applause. 
Mrs. Lynn told me she had no idea the banjo could 
be played with such refinement. 

No. 5. Whistling by local boy. 

A very clever and original performance. The boy 
produced extraordinary sounds, and had the mak- 
ings of a ventriloquist about him. He first suggested 
the notes of thrushes and blackbirds and robins and 
larks, and other less known songsters ; he then made 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


287 


the noise of a handsaw and a plane, and a black- 
smith hammering. He concluded by nearly choking 
himself in an endeavor to imitate fowls and ducks, 
and the braying of an ass. It was altogether a 
curious and interesting example of unexpected talent 
in an odd direction. Effect : General applause, main- 
tained by the boy’s private friends at the back of the 
hall until the policeman stopped it. 

No. 6. Cornet Solo, “The Lost Chord.” 

Our Exponent electrified everybody and did well. 
He perhaps lacked artistic modulation and light and 
shade, but he played clearly and very loudly, and 
found the lost chord on a penetrating note at the 
end of the piece, which gave several ladies a head- 
ache for days, as I afterwards heard. Effect : Well- 
earned applause. An encore was demanded but re- 
fused, because the Exponent said he rather thought 
he had strained himself somewhere internally just on 
the final blast. 

This concluded the first half of the concert, and a 
respite of ten minutes followed, in which most of the 
men went out to refresh. The Doctor was at the 
entrance and handed slips of card-board to those who 
intended returning and seeing the entertainment 
through, as, of course, everybody did. General Lynn 
and a select party came into the “ greenroom ” to 
congratulate those who had already performed and 
encourage those whose turn was to come. The 
Doctor appeared to be everywhere ; now talking to 
Miss Lynn ; now collecting slips again, as the audi- 
ence returned ; now putting courage into the lady 


288 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


violinist, who had found her music and mislaid her 
resin ; now once more talking to Miss Lynn ; now 
quelling a lad with nuts at the end of the hall ; now 
drinking a glass of something ; now explaining his 
banjo to one of General Lynn’s friends ; now, yet a 
third time, talking to Miss Lynn, and so forth. The 
second half of the show began with violin playing, 
and was slightly delayed because, though the resin 
ultimately reappeared, the fiddle-bow almost im- 
mediately afterwards vanished. At length, how- 
ever, everything necessary to the performance was 
collected, including the performer. The Doctor 
brought forward the music-stand; Miss Lynn played 
the accompaniment. 

No. 7. Violin Obligato. 

I forget the name of it, but “K” was the prevail- 
ing letter. It came originally from Russia, and at 
least one person in the room — she most involved — 
wdshed it had stopped there. Now the Doctor made 
his first mistake, and overreached himself. He tried 
to turn the music for both piano and violin and 
failed. Everybody tells him that he can be in two 
places at once, and he foolishly begins to believe it 
of himself ; hence his error. He leaped backward 
and forward throughout the entire length of the 
obligato, dazzled the audience, and bewildered the 
performers. Afterwards the violinist told me that 
her fingers had all felt like thumbs in worsted 
gloves, that the room swam round her, that she did 
not know which hand held the fiddle and which the 
bow, or where the music was. If this really repre- 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


289 


sented her state of mind, she certainly, under the 
circumstances, played well. Effect: A sufficiency 
of applause, and attempts from the uncultured to 
encore the Doctor. 

No. 8. Equilibrism or Jugglery. 

A youngish man came forward, took off his coat 
and put down a basket, which, at first sight, ap- 
peared to contain pickings from a rubbish heap. He 
sought out three empty bottles. These he balanced 
by the neck and flung about in the air and caught 
ere they reached the ground. Finally a bottle, 
spurning all sort of discipline, broke away from the 
youngish man and bounded lightly into the stalls. 
It sought out a minister of the Church with inten- 
tion to brain him, but he escaped by a hair-breadth; 
the bottle fell frustrated and rolled away out of 
sight. Then the youngish man began breaking 
fowls’ eggs with easy confidence in endeavors to 
fling them into the air and catch them on a plate. 
After this display the atmosphere grew thick with 
eggs, which the youngish man kept revolving round 
him until one went the way of the others and put 
out a foot -light. Finally, after rummaging in his 
basket, he brought forward three or four huge soup- 
plates and some short sticks. Then people in the 
front row began edging away and whispering nerv- 
ously to one another, while a voice, hoarse with an- 
guish, was distinctly heard to say : “ Come off, 
you’re ruining everything.” But the plates and 
sticks were fairly amenable, and seemed to be liked. 
Then the youngish man bowed and departed, taking 
19 


290 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


some of his properties with him, and an attendant 
followed to sweep up what remained. Effect : Re- 
lieved applause, with silent prayers of thankfulness 
in the front of the house that all had ended well, 
and there were no vacant places to mourn for. 

No. 9. Duet, Banjo and Piano-forte. 

This was undoubtedly the hit of the evening. The 
Doctor and Miss Lynn played con amove , and the 
entire audience applauded in the same way. Effect: 
A rapturous encore, twice repeated, with cheers and 
stamping of feet and whistling. I repeat, much may 
come of a duet. 

No. 10. Necromancy by the Exponent. 

This was no feeble, modern sleight of hand, but 
your real, old, mediaeval Black Art. The Exponent 
dressed up in some of General Lynn’s Indian curi- 
osities. He looked to be full of pockets and secret 
receptacles of every kind, and had all the appear- 
ance of an esoteric Buddhist out for a holiday. He 
lighted red-fire and ate candles, and burned Mrs. 
Lynn’s pocket-handkerchief and then gave her back 
a bouquet of paper flowers, which all thought clever, 
excepting Mrs. Lynn. After this he condescended 
to tricks with cards, and suddenly produced twenty 
feet of red ribbon out of his mouth, an achievement 
that interested everybody, delighted many, and dis- 
gusted not a few. He then borrowed a shilling and 
returned it in pennies — a thing I have seen done by 
ordinary business people who never knew they were 
conjuring; and he ended the seance by trying to de- 
lude us as to the exact whereabouts of a lump of 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


291 


sugar, which he worked about under three tin cups. 
In this attempt he repeatedly mystified himself, but 
never left the audience in doubt for a moment — a 
clever and original idea. Effect: Genuine applause 
from everybody but Mrs. Lynn, wdio had secretly 
hoped to get her pocket-handkerchief back up to the 
last moment, but failed to do so. The Exponent 
told me afterwards that he had purposed perform- 
ing a most intricate deception with a canary of his 
sister’s. But the bird showed such dislike to coming, 
and distrust of him, that its owner refused either to 
bring it or allow it to be brought. 

No. 11. The best of three falls in wrestling : Dev- 
on style. 

This fell through. Two hardy young fellows, in 
regulation jackets, appeared to take part in the bout, 
but the stage was found altogether unequal to their 
needs. In fact, had they got into holds and begun, 
they might possibly have brought, not only the 
stage, but the entire building, roof and walls, to the 
ground. Effect : Great disappointment and disor- 
der at the back of the hall, during which the police- 
man lost his head. 

No. 12. A few remarks from the Vicar. 

This amiable old man’s first word caused all dis- 
order to cease. He thanked everybody, both before 
and behind the foot-lights. He praised the perform- 
ers for performing, and the audience for coming to 
see them. He declared the entertainment would 
long be remembered, and added that, allowing for 
expenses, it had produced a clear monetary gain to 


292 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


the deserving charity in question of £4 3 s. 8 d. Ef- 
fect : Cheers, and an air of profound astonishment, 
among the baser sort, that mere music and such 
varied trifling as they had beheld could command 
this solid return. 

Then Miss Lynn, the Doctor, and the Exponent 
performed “ God Save the Queen” on piano, banjo, 
and cornet respectively. They wanted the violinist 
to swell the band, and she would gladly have done 
so, being now a hardened public performer, but un- 
fortunately, in the final hurry and excitement, she 
missed her fiddle, and did not find it again until the 
National Anthem was gloriously concluded. 

Then wraps and congratulations and hand-shak- 
ings, and trampling of feet, and lanterns and car- 
riages, and extinguishing of lights and hurryings to 
and fro, and overturning of chairs and roistering 
shoutings down the narrow lanes outside, and, final- 
ly, darkness and peaceful silence. 

Tavybridge sleeps in cottages and homesteads, 
and neighborly stately mansions ; sleeps on forest 
borders, hearing no rustling leaves ; on stream mar- 
gins, heeding no murmur of ripples. Entertainer 
and entertained, rich and poor, sad and happy, each 
seeks sooner or later his unconscious rest; slumber, 
like death, levelling them all. 


FOLLY AND FRESII AIR. 


293 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE MIND OF MAN — THE DOCTOR’S TELESCOPIC MENTAL AP- 
PARATUS— THE LAST OF THE HOME STREAM — A COMPANY 
FOR THE EXTRACTION OF SILVER LININGS FROM CLOUDS— 
GOOD-BYE TO TAVYBRIDGE — THE DOCTOR’S MISERY AND 
DESPAIR — VALE! — A VISION OF WINTER AND A THOUGHT 
OF SPRING— CONCLUSION. 

Some minds are like telescopes, others appear of a 
microscopic order, while a third class of intellects, 
fortunately growing rarer, like Euclid’s definition of 
a point, have neither parts nor magnitude. The far- 
seeing, comprehensive mind enjoys certain breadth 
and scope and sweep perhaps denied to him who 
magnifies small concerns and them alone; but to see 
an inch or two before your nose, and that with abso- 
lute clearness, is an enviable accomplishment argu- 
ing fine results, for many inches make a mile, and 
Life, with provoking philosophy, places the goal of 
small things achieved far above that of grand things 
just missed. The telescopic intellect, however, glories 
in certain pleasures of conception only to be known 
by kindred minds. The tortoise beat the hare, it is 
true ; but the hare appears to me to have had the 
pleasanter journey of it while the race progressed. 
He showed what he could do; he sped like a flash of 
lightning, he appreciated the scenery, and doubtless 


294 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


thanked his Maker, from time to time, that he was 
born a hare, not a tortoise. He certainly lost the 
match, but was the tortoise sportsman enough to 
risk a second encounter? No. He knew his victory 
was a fluke and a tremendous piece of luck. Nor 
have the bright, erratic human intellects an oppor- 
tunity of trying again here, for life is short; but in 
the next world, maybe, Providence will give them 
another chance, in which case I should back them 
with my last coin. 

These reflections (which would need a great deal 
more expansion than I can give them at present to 
become reasonable) were produced by a remark 
made by the Doctor. 

His mind is distinctly, and additionally under pres- 
ent conditions, telescopic. He allows a certain de- 
fined margin for the changes and chances of life, 
but such limitations to human action do not prevent 
him from focussing the future with piercing dis- 
tinctness, or from planning and plotting, on a heroic 
scale, the time to come. 

Clad in the garb of cities, my brother and I are 
sadly pacing the bank of the home stream for the 
last time. Mid-day will see an iron horse steam into 
the little station of Tavybridge, and, ere the high-met- 
alled creature starts again on his career, the Doctor 
and myself, and our baggage and fishing-rods and clo- 
ver-honey and banjo and baskets of ferns and pho- 
tographic apparatus will all be ensconced behind him. 

What the Doctor said was this : 

“ When I take a bigger place and become a fami- 


FOLLY AND FKESII AIK. 


295 


ly man, and secure the cream of the practice in my 
neighborhood, I shall hope to see a great deal of 
you, old chap.” 

This expression of fraternal feeling was very grati- 
fying to me, and I thanked him for his offer, prom- 
ising, when his expectations were realized, to accept 
the invitation. 

We sauntered to see certain favorite nooks and 
vistas. The trout to-day rose in a manner highly 
flattering to us, because it showed what a general, 
reckless feeling of security our departure had pro- 
duced in their minds. They did not sneer and flout 
us now they knew our power was over ; they did 
not rise and curse us for destroying their fathers, 
mothers, and connections ; they simply ignored us. 

And here I shall touch upon a fancy that came to 
me as my eyes wandered over the dark shadows of 
rain -clouds fringed wfith silver and gold. I shall 
dwell upon the conceit for two reasons : first, be- 
cause I like it; and, secondly, because it has the most 
optimistic tendency, and is therefore to be admired, 
coming from a man who has just finished all the 
holiday he will get for twelve months. 

It struck me that the promotion of a “ Company 
for the Extraction of Silver Linings from Clouds ” 
might do the State some service. The Memoranda 
of Association would, if I drew them out, appear on 
the following lines: 

1. The name of the Company to be “ The Opti- 
mistic Silver Searchers, Unlimited.” 


296 


FOLLY AND FRESII AIR. 


2. The offices of the Company to be erected in 
the hearts of the share-holders. 

3. The Company to be instituted for the append- 
ed reasons : 

(a.) The finding of light in dark places. Much 
of this light is believed to exist under circum- 
stances of the most adverse nature ; and it is 
emphatically hoped that it will be possible to 
produce it in quantities not only sufficient to 
justify the initial trifling cost of working, but 
also to furnish fine results, both for the individ- 
ual and the community. 

(6.) It is to be noted that the value of the 
shares must depend entirely upon the holder of 
them ; and, by a strange paradox, he who, after 
diligently investigating his own dark clouds, 
finds therein sufficient silver to allow of some 
overflowing into the poorer cloud-land of a 
neighbor, will reap the greatest advantage. 

Note. — It must not be supposed that this la- 
tent Silver Lining appears of the same hue and 
quality and value to all. Experience is neces- 
sary both to judge the true metal and reject the 
false. It is desirable to work with system and 
know exactly what you want to find before you 
begin your search. And envy no other man’s 
holding, for the flaming, cloudy palace which, 
on the face of it, represents, as you believe, your 
soul’s ambition, may be to its owner no more 
than the dark and cheerless habitation of his 
life, a cloud-mine, hidden in which he, too, la- 


FOLLY AND FRESII AIR. 


297 


bors, seeking and sighing for silver you know 
not of. 

(c.) It is by comparison, and often by that 
alone, that a right estimate of the real value of 
your own possessions can be come at. Thus a 
healthy man has silver in his cloud ; a man who 
can work, and can get work, has silver in his 
cloud ; a man who can say, “I have one to love 
me,” has silver in his cloud and gold. 

(d.) He who, after diligent search and toil, 
finds no solitary vein of silver either in things 
past, present, or to come, should seek a brother 
even more poorly furnished than himself ; who, 
if he find, as he certainly shall, will prove no 
cloud is so black but it might be blacker. 

(e.) The silver is, in fact, suspected to be 
ubiquitous and deliberately provided by the 
Suprerpe Will. 

“It spreadeth forth for flight the eagle’s wiugs 

What time she bearetli home her prey ; it sends 
Tho she-wolf to her cubs; for unloved things 
It findeth food and friends.” 

(/.) Fire and crucible will frequently be nec- 
essary before a lode of silver can be recognized 
for what it is ; and human ignorance is apt to 
generate so base an alloy that of what might 
have been a property of infinite worth only 
the wreck and scant remainder can oftentimes 
be saved. 

(g.) Of the nature and subtle, protean forms 


298 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


of this unknown wealth, spread throughout the 
nations of the earth, the learned differ, some 
altogether denying its existence. But let the 
Silver Searcher know this : The Essence he seeks 
is Divine; It works through darkness up to 
light ; It breeds good out of elemental chaos ; 
It hangs silver Hope higher than the last jagged 
peak of earthly sorrow : It fringes human agonies 
with a great glory of immortal possibilities 
beyond. 

I will issue the Prospectus of my concern when I 
have made some inquiries among business men as to 
its chance in the market. 

And now our time flies fast ; we return to the cot- 
tage and prepare to bid farewell to all the different 
human beings and beasts and feathered fowls that 
have contributed to our pleasure through the past 
fortnight. Mrs. Vallack, without telling us, has pre- 
pared yellow pasties, full of saffron, which are likely to 
be a great source of comfort in the train. We have 
also fruits, and the Doctor will buy his usual railway 
refreshment at Exeter. Our landlady, as I have 
already explained, possesses certain information re- 
specting the end of the world denied to most of our fel- 
low-creatures. One thing, however, we learned upon 
this subject when bidding her good-bye : that an- 
other twelve months of mundane existence is assured 
for those whom Death will leave alone. The world 
is to last a certain year longer, because Mrs. Vallack 
told us that, should we need her apartments next 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


299 


autumn, it would be well to write not later than June 
to secure them. She quite thawed to me, and even 
hoped we might meet again, but her heartiest expres- 
sions of regard were reserved for the Doctor. Him 
she parted with most unwillingly. She told him that, 
since the concert last night, a very general admira- 
tion for him had arisen in Tavybridge ; and she vent- 
ured to predict that did he set up a red lamp and 
brass plate here, he must from the first have all the 
leading tradesmen, farmers, and lodging-house keep- 
ers at his mercy. The Doctor assured her he would 
like nothing better, but there were certain objections. 
Dartmoor, to tell the truth, offers but few profes- 
sional advantages for medical men. Nature and the 
fine air, and the healthy lives of those who dwell in 
that favored land, scarcely give sufficient chances to 
a doctor. Occasional epidemics of old age occur, 
but Death prescribes for them, and no medical genius 
has as yet bettered his prescription. Indeed, Life it- 
self, as bitter-hearted people w r ill tell you, is a dis- 
ease. But how few of your pessimists are prepared 
to take a dose of church-yard mould, the sure specific 
for it ! 

The cat, forgetting himself in the excitement of 
our departure, came as far as the gate with us — a 
creditable sacrifice on his part, for he was sleeping 
when w T e left, and the Doctor woke him to say good- 
bye. Mr. Vallack awaited us at the station. He 
had kindly snatched a few moments from his shunt- 
ing operation to bring down a truck for our luggage, 
and his honest face and broad smile were the last 


300 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


things we saw as we sped away. At the Bracken 
Tor station we met General Lynn and his daughter. 
They were going up to Exeter for the day, and sym- 
pathized with the condition we must be in at having 
to leave such a place as Dartmoor for such a place 
as London. For them the picture of life in cities 
possessed no attractions. The Doctor entered into 
an arrangement with Miss Lynn to secure for her the 
finest lawn-tennis racket that Tate’s master-hand 
could produce. So we parted from them at Exeter 
amid universal declarations of good-will, and the Doc- 
tor mourned so terribly that he quite forgot to buy a 
bottle of champagne, and showed not the least interest 
in finding out where the London train started from. 

He continued in a saturnine vein for about one 
hundred miles of the journey home. He spoke hope- 
lessly of the Devonshire cream. He said that when 
it got into Somersetshire air it would undoubtedly 
turn sour. Concerning the ferns, he feared they 
could not be expected to weather a winter in Mid- 
dlesex. They might be already dying in the lug- 
gage-van. Yes, he felt well himself, he admitted, 
bu$ the danger of these angling expeditions was that 
rheumatism so often set in months afterwards. 
Rheumatism, he told me, took immense periods of 
time to germinate in the system. If he was going 
to get rheumatism, of course there was an end of all 
his hopes and ambitions at once. He might as well 
drive straight from Paddington to the workhouse. 
He ate a saffron pasty and said he feared all must 
be over, for the thing was not a pleasure to him, and 


FOLLY AND FKESH AIK. 


301 


loss of appetite invariably foretold internal disaster 
of some sort. He presently dragged out our attempt 
at a poem and read it through despondently. Then 
he lighted a cigar and took exception to my cheerful 
demeanor. He said : 

“ Why the deuce aren’t you miserable ?” 

“ Why should I be?” I answered. “I have just 
completed a fortnight of my life admirable in every 
way. I have killed trout in numbers beyond my 
most sanguine expectations ; have enjoyed your so- 
ciety (which was pleasurable enough at first); made 
friends, acquired health. What is there to be mis- 
erable about? Moreover, in your case, there are 
certain added gratifications entirely lacking in mine.” 

“Exactly,” said the Doctor; “and it is that — it 
is the uncertainty, the alternations between doubt 
and hope, distraction and delight, which have re- 
duced me to my present condition. One reflection 
is almost insupportable : I might have photographed 
her after lunch yesterday, and, like the dolt and idiot 
I am, never thought of it.” 

“One of us should certainly have had the idea,” 
I said. 

“ Of course — the most obvious thing that could 
have occurred to any average intellect. If I imag- 
ined that you did think of such a matter and never 
told me, it would make a barrier between us for life.” 

My brother is now becoming incoherent under 
his sufferings. I shall not condescend to answer 
this last remark. He will himself be the first to re- 
gret it when reason reasserts its sway. 


302 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


For myself, I grew busy with the wild land I had 
left. It appeared only right and proper that some 
sort of formal farewell should be made unto it — a 
kindly farewell, embracing both gratitude and re- 
gard. Dartmoor had done much for me ; there was 
little enough that I could produce in return. A brief 
valedictory ode seemed the most reasonable form of 
offering, and, though meagre and inadequate and 
quite beneath the dignity of the subject, I must re- 
produce it, because it rightly belongs to this book. 

YALE! 


i. 

Farewell to tliy manifold glories and graces, 

Thou heart of sweet Devon so wild and so free; 
Farewell to the peace and the soft resting-places, 
My short, sunny leisure owes solely to thee. 
Farewell, oh, farewell, 

For none may foretell 

If a vision of rainbow-clad mountain and fell 
(As Memory yet in her dreams dimly traces) 

Shall ever again he extended to me. 


ii. 

Farewell, lofty tors, in your proud desolation, 

Of purple and gold uuder gray granite crowns; 

Whose kingdoms extend ’neatli each throne’s elevation 
And valleys still smile, though the lord of them frowns. 
Farewell, oh, farewell, 

To slumbering dell, 

To the soft stealing music of river and hell, 

To the bountiful charms and delights of creation 

That spread their enchantments for dwellers in towns. 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


303 


III. 

Farewell, Happy Valleys of sunshine and pleasures, 

Where streams sparkle gold and the wood-pigeons coo; 
Farewell to hushed melodies’ murmuring measures 
That float in the dawn, Happy Valleys, from you. 
Farewell, oh, farewell, 

To Nights that hefell, 

When the moonbeams were filling with mystical 
spell 

Dim glades, where the fairies find silvery treasures, 

And gossamers stringing pale diamonds of dew. 


IY. 

Farewell to lone village and church-yard outlying, 

Where weary men slumber on Nature’s calm breast; 
Farewell to the peace and contentment supplying 

Life’s needs in the bright, humble homes of the West. 
Farewell, oh, farewell, 

May trouble ne’er quell 

The faith and warm hearts of our kindred who 
dwell 

In the wilds of the land, where, through labor undying, 
They love, pray, and suffer, then sink to their rest. 

To me this Dartmoor region reflects some of the 
secrets of man’s life, even as man himself, in the an- 
cients’ estimation, was but a microcosm of the great 
world. Here are to be found rugged mountain and 
bleak wilderness in sight of fertile valleys and sweet 
pasturages ; here sunshine and shadow, light and 
darkness, forever mysteriously blend and mingle ; 
here wild tempests hurry and scream, though the 
corn grows yellow and the apple red; here birds 
sing while angry torrents roar, and cruel rocks cut 


304 FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 

man’s weary feet, but cooling fountains are always 
at band to bathe them in ; here, finally, as in Nature 
and in Life, winter must surely conquer summer, 
and as surely yield to spring. 

Then, with that pending intermediate season, with 
the fall of the year, my thoughts concerned them- 
selves. Ere we left Tavybridge the glories to come 
were foreshadowed in gold-dust on the fern and 
crimson on the brier. Presently the forests so green 
would grow aflame with infinite splendor of au- 
tumn — and then? Then, sober russet and sear 
brown — a robe of mourning for departed life. Hark 
to the sad sigh of pattering rain and the moan of 
naked forests ; hear the leaves rustling down to 
death in the gusts of a great wind. See the snow 
falling and falling, crowning the tors, covering the 
black moor and the meadow below ; filling the 
streams with turbid freshets and strangling their 
music in hoarse anger ; freezing on the bough ; 
hiding the world that sleeps iron-bound. Then look 
forward a little farther. Yonder tangled web of 
dim branches, all purple under the red and frosty 
sunset, is alive and full of eagerness and hope ; 
robins are singing ; the dead beech-leaf, still cling- 
ing to the branch which knows him no longer, must 
go, for tiny brown spikes already foretell his suc- 
cessor ; the celandine is hazarding a preliminary 
flower or two; wood -sorrels thrust their tender 
trefoil leaves through the moss ; sloes are scarce 
plucked before the blackthorn contemplates coming 
bloom ; catkins adorn hazel and willow and alder ; 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


305 


the great elms are thick with tiny red blossoms ; 
while, at last, an emerald veil begins to tremble 
over larch and hawthorn. In sheltered nooks the 
primrose opens a wondering eye on his strange, not 
unpleasant world ; later the brake-fern peeps brown 
coils above ground; dry, dead blossoms of last 
year’s heather begin to fall ; Spring eternal teaches 
the old melodies to blackbird and thrush and sky- 
lark, sprinkles the early rain, swings her censer of 
sweet savors throughout the length and breadth of 
the moor, worships the Lord of all in glorious ritual 
of song and bursting bud and busy hum of myriad 
life ; while, amid her altars, “ Man goeth forth unto 
his work and to his labor.” 

Why the Doctor should have brightened up 
so extremely in the neighborhood of Swindon I 
have never been able to understand ; but he be- 
came absolutely cheerful at this town, and his man- 
tle of melancholy in a measure descended upon 
me. 

So, after a gleam or two of Father Thames in set- 
ting sunlight, we rush onward where much smoke 
is, and many locomotives hastening in divers direc- 
tions or screaming like angry giant babies when 
lofty signals bar the way. Then appears that be- 
wildering chaos of shining, winding steel ribbons 
that cross and recross, and turn and twist and swal- 
low one another up. Yes, this is London, sure 
enough. Where else shall the traveller see such 
miles of squalid back yard? Where else shall he 
note such children, such cats, such poultry? Oh, 
20 


306 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


the sadness, the pathos, the sanitation of those pov- 
erty-stricken back yards ! 

We reach our journey’s end, and the high-priests 
of the great god Terminus mark us for their 
own. 

I do not want to carp on this, the last page of my 
narrative, but that final sixpence to a porter at the 
end of an expedition always annoys me. What does 
he do for it? Merely call a cab, put you inside, and 
your traps outside. It is the engine - driver w T ho 
should be rewarded. You owe to him the success 
of your journey. Your life has been in his hands ; 
but he has kept his eye on signals, and held the en- 
gine w r ell under control and brought you safely 
along. A man never even takes the trouble to thank 
the engine-driver and his mate on these occasions, 
much less substantially acknowledge their efforts. 
Of course, if he did do so he w^ould undoubtedly 
lose his luggage and fail to secure a hansom, and 
get laughed at, under the present order of things. 
But if such a course was the rule — if all the passen- 
gers habitually crowded round the engine and made 
a fuss over the stoker and driver, and shook hands 
with them, and congratulated them on their success 
— why, it w r ould be a pleasant, hearty custom, and 
it would show porters that they are not every- 
body. 

And now, kind reader, if you have struggled thus 
far, and are seeing the last of the Doctor and my- 
self, suffer us here to take a final and friendly leave 
of you ; suffer us to shake your hand, to thank you 


FOLLY AND FRESH AIR. 


307 


for those valuable moments you have bestowed upon 
our peaceful adventures ; and suffer us, ere we van- 
ish as a tiny ripple upon the mighty tides of litera- 
ture, to say, in unison and with sincere regard, 


“Fare Tiiee Well.” 


































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BEJST-HUR : 

A Tale of the Christ. By Lew. Wallace. 16mo, 
Cloth, $1 50 ; Half Leather, $2 00 ; Three-quarter Leath- 
er, $2 50 ; Half Calf, $3 00 ; Full Leather, $3 50 ; Three- 
quarter Crushed Levant, $4 00. — Garfield Edition. 
2 volumes. Illustrated with twenty full-page photo- 
gravures. Over 1,000 illustrations as marginal draw- 
ings by William Martin Johnson. Crown 8vo, Silk 
and Gold, Uncut Edges and Gilt Tops, $7 00. (In a 
Gladstone box.) 

Anything so startling, new, and distinctive as the leading feature of 
this romance does not often appear in works of fiction. . . . Some of 
Mr. Wallace’s writing is remarkable for its pathetic eloquence. The 
scenes described in the New Testament are rewritten with the power 
and skill of an accomplished master of style.— N. Y. Times. 

Its real basis is a description of the life of the Jews and Romans at 
the beginning of the Christian era, and this is both forcible and brill- 
iant. . . .We are carried through a surprising variety of scenes; we 
witness a sea-fight, a chariot-race, the internal economy of a Roman 
galley, domestic interiors at Antioch, at Jerusalem, and among the 
tribes of the desert; palaces, prisons, the haunts of dissipated Roman 
youth, the houses of pious families of Israel. There is plenty of ex- 
citing incident; everything is animated, ^vivid, and glowing.— N. Y. 
Tribune. 

It is full of poetic beauty, as though born of an Eastern sage, and 
there is sufficient of Oriental customs, geography, nomenclature, etc., 
to greatly strengthen the semblance. — Boston Commonwealth. 

“Ben-Hur” is interesting, and its characterization is fine and strong. 
Meanwhile it evinces careful study of the period in which the scene is 
laid, and will help those who read it with reasonable attention to real- 
ize the nature and conditions of Hebrew life in Jerusalem and Ro- 
man life at Antioch at the time of our Saviour’s advent.— Examiner, 
N. Y. 

The book is one of unquestionable power, and will be read with un- 
wonted interest by many readers who are weary of the conventional 
novel and romance.— Boston Journal. 


Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 

The above work sent by mail , postage prepaid, to any part of the 
United States, Canada, or Mexico, on receipt of the price. 




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